The following morning, Cyrus woke to three raps on his door. Goosebumps ran up his legs as he climbed out of bed and opened it. Berrodin waited on the other side, already dressed in his grey cloak. Cyrus glanced outside, eyeing the sheets of rain leaving muddy streams trickling through the streets.
"Still planning on leaving today?" Cyrus asked, raising his brow.
"Better now, than later. The storm may last for a few days, and I'd like to head out before the roads become any worse," Berrodin said. He handed Cyrus a pack of jerky, and a knotted red apple. "Here. It's what I have for breakfast."
"Better than nothing, right?" Cyrus said. The apple crunched between his teeth as he followed Berrodin to the door.
The old man tightened his cloak before stepping out onto the front stoop. Raising his hood, he scowled at the canopy of dark clouds. "Hopefully the weather will clear by the end of the day. By the Halls of Osyras, we'll be miserable if it doesn't."
Cyrus raised his hood as they made their way down the street, shivering as the wind slipped through his cloak. Ahead, the old man muttered a curse as he sank down to his ankle in the mud.
"Bloody hells. Isn't that just great," Berrodin said, shaking off his boot. "Come on. We need to go to the stables first."
Cyrus bit his cheek, trying to hide a slight grin. As they approached the end, they noticed a dense crowd, stationed outside the stables. The villagers spoke in hushed whispers and glanced at each other with unease.
Near the edge, a group of boys climbed a stack of logs, their eyes wide as they craned their necks. When one nearly fell off, a sharp shout rang out from the crowd, harsher than any mother's tongue.
The boys went rigid, then slowly climbed down, and stared sheepishly at the ground. No one criticized the man for yelling, not even bothering to glance in his direction.
Berrodin furrowed his brow, and pushed through the people. "Coming through, coming through. Have you all gone mad? You'll catch a cold standing out in this weather."
Cyrus wedged his way between the people, and stopped beside the stable doors. Inside, three men huddled around a table, their clothes covered in mud and blood. The carcass of a red boar lay between them, with a grey stripe running down its spine.
A horrid stench hung around the beast, and blood matted its fur, while black tar caked its eyes and dripped from its tusks. The broken end of a spear protruded from its side, wedged deep between its ribs.
"Verrel? What's going on here?" Berrodin asked. He looked twice at the table, then frowned. "Is that a Belrune bushboar?"
The oldest of the three men looked up, his dark brown eyes softening. "Berrodin, I'm glad you're here. Yes, it is. We found it yesterday, badly injured, and hiding in one of the valleys. Still, despite being nearly dead already, it took the three of us to bring the mad beast down, and Ferin nearly lost his arm in the process. I wanted him to go see you, but the stubborn boy refused."
Verrel gestured towards the young man on his left, who appeared to be no older than seventeen. A layer of cloth wrapped around his shoulder, stained a dark red, and his bloodshot eyes flickered open at the mention of his name.
Berrodin hurried over to the boy, and pulled back the cloth. A jagged gash ran across his shoulder, the bloody flesh a pale grey. "Ferrin, you fool. Why didn't you come see me? It looks like your wound is already infected."
Ferrin rolled his shoulder. "I didn't think it was important at the time. It doesn't hurt. It's just a bit stiff."
As Ferrin moved, a trail of blood ran down his arm, before dripping from his fingers. Berrodin grabbed a rag, and used it to clean the boy's hand, wiping away the mud coating his fingers as well. The skin beneath his nails was blacker than night, almost as though it had been eaten away.
Cyrus tightened his grip on his cloak. "What happened to your nails?"
Ferrin glanced at him with a frown, before flipping his hand over. "I- I'm not certain. I must have bruised them in the fight."
"Another reason you should have gone and seen Berrodin sooner," Verrel said. He pulled the physician closer. "What do you think? Can you do anything about his arm?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. I'm running low on herbs and medicines, so I was on my way to Galeden to restock," Berrodin said. He patted the wound dry with the rag, then rewrapped it. "It doesn't look broken at least. Still, it'll take at least five days to get to the city and back. Until I do, you shouldn't have him do anything difficult."
Verrel wrung his hands together. "That's going to be tough. I need all the help I can get right now, with winter coming."
He sighed. "Besides that, have you ever seen something like this?"
Verrel grabbed a hook off the wall, and tapped the boar's side, near the spear wound. It clacked, like iron on stone, causing the villagers to mutter. "Do you hear that? It's unnatural. I fear there's dark magic at play here."
Berrodin stepped back. "Verrel! What were you thinking? Why would you bring that back here? What good will messing with magic do us?"
"Nothing, I know, but we need to bring this before the officials in Galeden," Verrel said. He gestured towards the boar. "We found multiple sets of tracks throughout the mountains, most of which dwarfed this creature in size. For one to wander so far north, I wouldn't be concerned, but a whole herd? Something's not right."
Berrodin slowly nodded. "That much is clear enough. What are you trying to get at?"
Verrel set the hook on the table. "Will you bring the beast to Galeden with you, and take it to Lord Galbren. Perhaps he can dispatch a hunting party, and bring the rest of these creatures down before they hurt someone else."
Berrodin glanced between the boar, then the villagers behind him. Sighing, he gave a slight nod. "Very well. Load it into the back of my wagon."
Cyrus stood to the side as the boar was wrapped in a tarp, and loaded into the back of an old rickety wagon. By now, most of the villagers had dispersed, hurrying back to their homes to prepare for the worst.
As Berrodin and Verrel went to grab Berrodin's donkey, Cyrus made his way over to the wagon. The boar had been securely fastened, its body covered from hoof to tusk. Not even a hair showed, but the stench still hung around.
"I was the one who brought it down, you know," Ferrin said. He leaned against the table, his bloodshot eyes blinking between sunken sockets. "It was charging at Verrel when I pierced its side with my spear."
"Is that how you hurt your arm?" Cyrus asked.
"That's right. The beast whirled on me, catching it as I jumped back," Ferrin said. He studied Cyrus for a moment. "Hey, you're the one they found adrift in the ocean, right? What happened? Were you in a shipwreck?"
Cyrus shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I can't remember anything besides my name."
Ferrin frowned. "Oh, that must-"
Ferrin broke off into a fit of coughs, doubling over the table. Cyrus caught a glimpse of black phlegm as the boy wiped his mouth. He shivered, a chill running down his spine. Something stirred at the back of his mind, but he shook his head, and the feeling passed.
Cyrus grabbed a clean cloth from Berrodin's wagon, and tossed it over. "Here. Use that."
"Thanks," Ferrin said. As he cleaned his face and hands, he nodded towards the wagon. "Are you going with Berrodin then? To Galeden?"
"I am. I'm hoping to find someone there who can help me figure out who I am," Cyrus said. He gestured towards the dead boar. "Say, I heard Verrel mention something about dark magic when he was talking to Berrodin. Do you know what he meant by that?"
"I can't say for certain, because I've never seen magic before," Ferin said. "But you heard how it clacked when he knocked the hook against it? Not only that, but the beast should have been dead long before we ran across it. It was already wounded pretty badly."
"Is magic common?" Cyrus asked.
Ferin shook his head. "No, and those who use it rarely show themselves. From the legends I've heard, any who use magic tend to lose their minds. That's why anyone suspected of being a warlock is hunted down."
"Who hunts them?"
"The Dilthane, followers of the goddess Eraveil," Ferin said. He frowned. "Do you really not know any of this? Even the children here are taught this at a young age."
"He just woke up yesterday, Ferin. Cut him some slack," Berrodin said. He led a dark grey donkey through the stalls, but it balked as they neared the wagon. The old man paused, and tugged on the donkey's harness. "What's gotten into you, Starvhost? Come on, pick up those hooves."
The donkey dug its hooves into the dirt, its eyes wild as it let out a nicker. Berrodin grunted, his face growing red as he dragged the stubborn beast to the front of the wagon, and hooked it up to the harness.
"Stubborn old boy," Berrodin said. He patted the donkey's neck, and eyed the boar's corpse in the back. "I feel wary keeping that thing any longer than I have too. Are you ready to go, Cyrus?"
Cyrus brushed the amulet, before giving a slight nod. "I have everything I need."
"Good, no time to waste then," Berrodin said. He climbed onto the wagon, then gestured towards the back. "I'm afraid you're going to have to sit back there, though. Not enough room in the front."
"Great…" Cyrus said. He pulled himself into the back, and scooted past the boar, before wedging himself into the corner. "Could be worse, I suppose."
"That's a good way to look at it," Verrel said. He gave Cyrus a slight nod, before handing Berrodin a small leather pouch. "Here. For your troubles."
"No need to mention it," Berrodin said. The pouch clinked as he tossed it into his pack. "Though, I wouldn't mind a decent meal, and a bit of mead waiting for me when I return."
"I talk to Morlen, and have it arranged," Verrel said.
"That's all I can ask. I'll see you in a week then," Berrodin said, flicking the reins. With a jerk, the wagon creaked forward, leaving behind deep trenches in the mud. As they rumbled away from the stables, Cyrus noticed Ferin hunched beside the table, his nails digging into the wood.
Cyrus frowned and he pulled his tunic tighter. Overhead, the dark clouds swirled and crackled, drenching the surrounding lands. As they entered the cover of the forest, the village faded from view, leaving them rattling alone down the dirt road.