The Crimson Claymore

The Crimson Claymore: Chapter 33

Chapter 33

The city of Erdunadir lay in ruins. Stables were burned, and homes were thrashed. Bodies littered both the streets and homes where they fell. The smell of vinegar lingered fresh in the air from the blood that scattered the ground. Corpses were horrorstruck, and the dried blood was only a day old.

Everybody was silent as they marched behind Searon. He was too late to arrive at Erdunadir, and despite their defenses they had been no match for whatever force desecrated them. He felt sick from the carnage. It took a long time until anything could be seen besides mangled human bodies torn limb from limb. Searon noticed first and rode toward it. A daerion lay on its stomach where it had been bested by two warriors. Both of those warriors lay dead just beyond the creature.

"I should have never left," came a raspy voice from behind him.

Searon turned around to see Xython grabbing at his short, curly black hair. His bright teeth were gritted behind his ebony lips. He looked around at the carnage in disgust as he clenched the hilt of his mace.

"You would have been dead as well," Searon whispered.

"An honorable death, with more than just one creature dead around me."

"At least ten would have been dead by your spiked mace, old friend, but it would have done everyone little good. You are much more valuable alive. Now you will be able to kill much more than ten, and with enough deaths you can avenge all those whom we lost today."

Xython cursed under his breath, "Yeah, you are right. I still don't like it."

"Neither do I."

Karceoles urged his horse forward, where he stopped by the sign of the Dancing Donkey. It had fallen off the brass chain that kept it above the door and lay crooked on the ground at the step. Most of the walls had been burned down, and dozens lay dead near half-charred tables. The wizard didn't get off of his horse but led the animal into the ruins of the bar, where he poured himself a tall mug of ale from the only untouched barrel. When he finished, he slammed the mug on the bar, where it crumbled underneath his touch and collapsed to the ground.

He turned to the stage where a lone body was burned and bloody under a tangle of black hair. Karceoles got off of his horse and walked slowly forward with his zylek shaking in his hand. He rolled over the body, and recognized the face as Annettera's, one of the dancers. She must have been entertaining during the attack.

Searon walked up next to him and clasped his shoulder in comfort. He offered the pipe he had stolen from the wizard, which Karceoles took violently. After a few puffs, the wizard drew in his breath and sighed.

"Are you all right?" Searon asked.

"Where is Berethana?"

"Who?"

"Her sister, the other dancer. She should be here with her sister if they were on stage together."

Searon looked around but saw nothing. "I do not know, my friend."

Karceoles began frantically looking around, moving around rubble as he searched. There was a determination about him that Searon knew he wouldn't be able to mellow. Instead of fighting it, he began to look around as well, joining the search with the wizard; the other warriors began searching as well. A small group of men went up the creaky steps to search the rooms of the inn.

Within a few minutes, a man hollered from upstairs, and the team of them came down holding a naked woman with blonde hair who shivered in their arms. Tears fell from her eyes, and blood streaked her face. A few scrapes and tears fell across her naked body but nothing severe. It seemed she had survived the attack almost unscathed.

"Please..." she whispered. "Please, don't rape me, please, please...don't."

Karceoles walked up and took her out of the warriors' arms. "Quiet, girl, nobody here will harm you. I promise you."

She looked up into his eyes and brought her shaky hand to his face. "Wizard? Is that you?"

"Yes, Berethana...it is I. Everything will be okay."

"It was horrid, fire was everywhere, people burned—my sister...she screamed from the fire that consumed her before those creatures came in and...and—"

"The fire came first? Why are you not burned?" he asked.

"I-I don't know. It was all around me. My clothing was caught on fire, but I didn't feel the heat. When the creatures came, I hid, but the only place I could hide so they couldn't see me was in the fire."

Karceoles's eyes flickered, and he looked around until settling his eyes on Searon's. "Shh, it's okay now. Everything will be okay."

He brought her over to his horse and tucked her in blankets before turning around to look at Searon. After a long breath, he walked forward with his eyes glancing around at the others surrounding the warrior.

"Survivors...search the village for survivors," Searon said. "Go, now!"

Everybody scattered out of the pub and into the streets. Searon took a step toward the wizard while glancing at the young dancer bundled up in blankets. He looked around at the carnage and the smoldering wood.

"What's wrong?" Searon asked.

"She's not burned. She hid in the fire...and she's not burned."

"What does it mean?"

"It means that my seed is inside of her. The seed of fire."

Searon nodded. "So what does this mean?"

"She must be protected. Fire cannot harm her, but our enemies can. She is the first to hold the seed of a child in near a century."

"What happened to the rest? I know for certain that she has not been your only conquest."

Karceoles's face turned grim as he looked toward Searon. "They have disappeared, or the seed hasn't taken. It is already very rare that a seed will hold; not all wombs are suitable for wizards."

"Disappeared?" Searon asked.

"Killed sometimes, or vanished. Wizards are a near-extinct race. Besides a few novices or those who keep themselves hidden, I am the last remaining wizard."

"Will you protect her?"

"Yes, she will be safe with me."

Searon nodded and walked out of the pub. He nearly walked into the mage in the chaos of the village. Everybody scurried from one place to another, and to Searon's surprise survivors were being found everywhere. He watched as they were being pulled from crumbled buildings and rubble.

"How many survivors have been found?" Searon asked.

"Thirty one, five of whom won't survive the night," Sh'on said.

Searon nodded. "Give those five a tall mug of ale and some food, and make them as comfortable as you can with bales of hay. Then we march; there is no time to waste."

"One is a small child, a girl, no older than the age of twelve."

"A child...Charlotte..." Searon whispered.

"Charlotte?" Sh'on asked.

"Nobody, do not worry about it, she is not from this village. Is there nothing you can do? All this magic that both you and Karceoles have, and you can't even save a small girl?"

"I am limited with healing, Lord Searon; what I can do I must save for those who can survive. Besides, I can only heal what is there...and some of her insides are...missing."

Searon's stomach twisted in disgust, and he spat on the ground. He sighed heavily until shaking his head and turning to the mage. "I will see to her, but you must take care of these other four. If there is to be any chance of Legain surviving, we must make haste."

"As you wish." Sh'on bowed and pulled his cloak to his side as he turned and strode off.