Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

but blood had splashed and dried on the floor and walls.
    “Nasty,” said Flint.
    The Dancer nodded. “Very.”
    “Demons?”
    “Unlikely.”
    “It’s their style.”
    “The Demon War ended ten years ago. No one’s seen a demon outside the Darkwood since.”
    Flint scowled unhappily. “They came out of the long night once before; maybe they’re on the move again.”
    The Dancer knelt down and studied the bloodstained straw covering the earth floor. “Interesting.”
    “What is?” Flint knelt down beside him.
    “Look at the floor, Jessica. There’s blood everywhere but no footprints, only hoof marks. And if the horses were killed and dragged out, where are the tracks? There should be some traces to show what happened to the bodies.”
    “You’re right,” said Flint. “It is interesting.”
    They straightened up quickly and automatically fell into their usual fighting position, back to back with swords held out before them. The shadows all around were suddenly dark and menacing. The air was dry and still and unnaturally cold. It smelled faintly of death and corruption. Flint stirred uneasily and flexed the three fingers of her left hand. The scar tissue where the missing two fingers had been throbbed dully. It didn’t like the cold. Flint shuddered suddenly. There was something dangerous here in the fort with them; she could feel it. She had no idea what or where it might be, but she had no doubt it was there. Flint trusted her instincts implicitly.
    “Yes,” said the Dancer quietly. “I feel it too. Whatever happened to the people in this fort, I don’t think they died a clean death.”
    “We can’t leave our horses here,” said Flint. “They’d spook before we could get them through the door. Let’s take a look at the main building, see if we can find a suitable place there.”
    “Good idea,” said the Dancer.
    “Then let’s get out of here. I’m getting spooked myself.”
    “You’re not alone,” the Dancer assured her.
    “I told you not to listen to those minstrels. You’ll be having bad dreams tonight.”
    “Wouldn’t surprise me. I don’t think this is a good place to sleep, Jessica.”
    Flint smiled slightly. “You might just be right, Giles. But can you think of a better way to get to the bottom of what happened here?”
    “There is that,” said the Dancer. “Let’s go.”
    He led the way back out into the sunshine, and Flint pulled the doors shut after her. She and the Dancer crossed the courtyard side by side, swords at the ready, their eyes wary and watchful. Their footsteps echoed hollowly back from the high stone walls. The sky was darkening toward evening, and the shadows were growing longer.
    Flint and the Dancer eventually settled the horses in the main reception hall. It wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t even a lot better than anywhere else, but the horses seemed prepared to tolerate it. They rolled their eyes as they were led through the door, and regarded the bare wooden floor with grave suspicion, but finally settled down. Flint lit a lantern, and then she and the Dancer made their way deeper into the main building. Finding MacNeil and Constance was easy enough; they just followed the tracks in the thick dust on the floor. Flint eventually rounded a corner and found MacNeil waiting for her, sword in hand.
    “I thought I heard somebody following us,” said MacNeil dryly, lowering his sword.
    “Have you found anything?” asked the Dancer.
    “Nothing helpful. Just empty rooms, dust, and blood.”
    The bloodstains were everywhere. They splashed across the ceiling, ran down the walls, and pooled on the floor. So much blood …
    “What are the chances on finding anyone alive?” said Constance.
    “Not good,” said MacNeil. “But we’ll keep looking anyway. Just in case.”
    The four of them slowly made their way through the fort, corridor by corridor, room by room. The corridors were for the most part bare and unadorned, with little in the way of matting or tapestries to break up the monotony of bare stone. All the rooms were empty and covered with a thick layer of undisturbed dust. But wherever they went they found bloodstains and broken furniture and enigmatic claw marks gouged deep into the stone walls.
    And finally they came to the cellar, and there was nowhere left to go. The cellar was a featureless stone chamber some fifty feet square, littered with accumulated rubbish. Two open doorways led into smaller storage areas. MacNeil picked his way