The Lady Penitent

III. Aediobri

The autumn air was clear and crisp as they rounded the bend to see Aediobri. It had been two weeks of riding since their encounter with the demon to reach the small town and their relief at a sign of civilization beyond the occasional traveling merchant extinguished abruptly at the sight of the ruins. There was nothing left of Aediobri. Not a stick of lumber rose from the ground. White ashes were scattered and heaped everywhere around the burned crops. "This is not the work of some impassioned horde," Seva said, quietly horrified as they rode slowly into the town, passing through what had once been buildings. The basements had all been filled in and the main road turned into an open grave where all the bodies of the villagers, young and old, were laid out in neat rows. "This...this..."

The nauseating smell of death was everywhere and the bodies themselves were bloated from their decay beneath the sun and rain. Bodies were discolored and distended as they rotted. Carrion birds cawed as they guarded their grisly meals from the approaching riders.

"They salted the fields," Holland observed distantly, noting the churned soil. Her stomach had turned into a twisting knot. She recognized this destruction, though she had no way of explaining what the modus operandi was doing here. It set her mind racing. It wasn't possible, not so far east. Seva was right, this wasn't a raging barbarian horde's work. This was something altogether more cold, methodical, and rational. This was planned. "I imagine they were offered terms and refused, thinking their lord and his armies would save them. Whose land is this?"

"The Count of Navia," Seva said, her eyes wide as she looked around at the deserted place. She couldn't even hear insects. "He would never allow—"

Holland pointed as they crested the next rise. There, in the center of the town, was a crucified figure. "Is that the Count?"

Seva stifled a sob with her hands and nodded, blue eyes tearing up. Even from a distance, she recognized him. "I played with his daughter when I was a girl," she whispered. "And now he's dead."

The penitent couldn't think of a sufficient word of comfort. She swung down from her saddle and helped Seva down from hers. The poor baroness was shaking like a reed, so Holland wrapped her arms around the young woman. What could she say? The only words she had ever been told on the eve of loss were: Death comes to us all. It was not really a reassurance. Seva didn't seem to mind the armor, curling her arms around the armored warrior and pressing her face to one cold, unfeeling shoulder. Holland knew her companion was overwhelmed. She would have been herself, were it not for the lifetime spent in battle. It was never easy to see a whole town destroyed, but she could stand it stone-faced. At a loss for anything else to do, she held Seva and let her cry.

Eventually, the tears dried up and gave way to anger. "Who? Who would do such a thing?" the baroness demanded, wiping her eyes and sniffling to stop her nose from running.

"I've seen it before," Holland said. She took a deep breath. "The only thing I know of that so carefully calculates its cruel reprisals is the Imperium."

"Thou speakest of it as if I should know it," Seva said, detaching from the penitent.

Holland took a deep breath. "I did not expect you to know them," she said. "I am grateful that you do not. This is not the time or place to speak of it, however. I will bury the Count, if you can keep watch on horseback."

They both heard a soft sound, a whimper, and froze. Seva's head whipped around. She saw a little boy limping along the road towards them, one arm cut open in a long laceration that had clotted before he bled to death. He was a skinny little thing, like a doll made of brown twigs with dark, bird-like eyes. "Holland!" she shouted as she pulled away and raced towards the boy. He looked about six or seven and positively terrified.