Sorceress of the Second Sphere

17. The Right Hand of the Usurper - Loldirr

Charred remains and undisturbed grass were all that was left of the once-secluded village of Greenhaven. Rotten black timber littered the landscape, a reminder to Loldirr of the last time she stood in this place.

She felt hollow and her stomach felt tight, recalling the burning village and stench of death as the Death Wraith, Sir Wendon Pykeston, laid waste to the once cheerful community.

Each step forward on the unkempt grass felt heavy, it may have been months ago since she was last here, but she could recall the trauma as if it was yesterday.

To her surprise, there were no remains. The people who were slaughtered mercilessly had long since departed this area, yet there were no obvious signs of animals exploiting their vulnerability.

Loldirr looked toward the hulking trees that littered the landscape, focusing on one in particular. A rope dangled from it effortlessly, its thread cut at its tip, frayed and bare to the elements. Remembering the traumatic moment that Willis' mother was hauled into the air fighting to stay alive as the rope cut into her airway, it instantly brought tears to her eyes, but as both Mr and Mrs Billingslea's lifeless bodies were nowhere to be seen, it didn't take long for Loldirr to pull her bow off her shoulder, and an arrow between her fingers.

Sigurd and Jeffry had initially thought nothing of this ruin, but as the huntress beside them became alert, they too grabbed their weapons preparing for an ambush.

"What is it?" Sir Gervais asked, seeing the caution in Loldirr's eyes.

"This was once Greenhaven," Loldirr explained, "once my home and generally untouched by civilization until it was decimated by the Shadow. The bodies, they are all gone, it is somewhat bizarre."

"Animals?" Jeffry asked, his eyes flitting around, determined to find some aggressor.

"Initially my thought," Loldirr responded, her careful steps determined not to disturb the ground that she walked on, "but that rope hanging from that tree, it has been cut."

All eyes briefly descended on the rocking rope, being pushed back and forth by the light breeze. They were alert and anxious, but as Jeffry took his first few steps forward, his hand gripped tightly on his bastard sword, it eventually eased as he raised the tip of the blade toward a grassy pasture.

"There, look," he commented, causing his temporary companions to look toward where his sword was pointing.

Loldirr lowered her bow, before inadvertently causing herself to let out an undignified splutter. Her eyes glistened brightly and her tears felt damp, but as her tears moistened her eyes, she couldn't take her focus off the scores of wooden x's pushed into the ground. The sign of Qhyagi, the God of death.

Sigurd, Gervais and Jeffry all immediately stopped in their tracks watching Loldirr as she stumbled toward the makeshift graves of the people of Greenhaven. Standing in front of one of them forced her to crumble to her knees.

Sir Gervais was the first to stand by her side, while the other two warriors resheathed their weapons. He immediately recognised the symbol on a medallion wrapped around the cross of the grave where Loldirr knelt. A raven of mixed silver and gold, here lay the remains of Sir Edric Darke.

Loldirr's cries were subdued as if she didn't want the man beside her to feel the deep anguish that plagued her body. Her focus on the previous lord of Ravenscourt, the man who gave up everything to raise her, was nothing short of intense.

"Lord Darke was a great man," Sir Gervais commented.

"Yes, he was," Loldirr commented, "yet I failed to see it until it was too late."