The biting wind and bone-chilling air were not unfamiliar to Marcus—they were not unlike the winters that he had experienced as a youth. There was, however, something deeper. Something sinister in the way that this blizzard seemed adversarial. The winters of the true north could kill, yes, but they were mere forces of nature. Something to be feared, yes, but also respected. This storm was different.
These vicious gales lashed out at Marcus with malevolent intent. They whispered unintelligible vitriol as they buffeted him. Observing his crew, he knew that they too were aware of the presence all around them. Whatever creature had caused this, its influence reached throughout the entire valley, filling it with its intent. Intent to not simply be a force of nature, but to kill. To destroy. That made Marcus shiver more than any gust of cold air.
The house where Visna stayed while in Seonteoch was on the eastern side of town. At least, it was unlikely that her son had crossed the river on to the west. More likely, he had instead gone east, where a few small fields eventually gave way to the woods beyond.
Flurries of snow came down in sheets as they walked the narrow paths of the town, empty houses standing defiantly against the storm. Beyond the edge of town, fields of now frost-bitten crops dominated the landscape. The people here, so far from any other town or city, probably saw merchants once every few months, and were mainly self-sufficient. Marcus hoped that Visna and the others had the power to bring Seonteoch aid, as their fall crop was surely dead. The people who lived here would have very little to survive winter when it actually came.
Marcus took the lead, his tracking skills that had been sharpened over an entire childhood in the far northern Ilrian provinces allowing him to step up into the role of a leader that he had not felt since Valla. His eyes scanned the landscape. With fresh-falling snow, finding tracks would be difficult. Difficult, but not impossible.
Hawthorne stepped up to Marcus as they walked. “You know what to look for?”
“I do. It might be difficult, because of all the fresh snow still coming down, but I’ve tracked enough animals in the snow to know what to look for.”
Hawthorne nodded. “And what do you think we will find?”
“I know that you forbade Visna and the others from coming, not just because of the danger that lurks out there.” Marcus gritted his teeth. He had not said anything, but even without a monstrous creature lurking in the woods that wanted nothing but destruction, the chances of survival in a snowstorm like this without proper clothing or training were slim.
Hawthorne’s lips tightened into a thin line. “If the child has come into contact with the Scathe, I find it unlikely that he is still alive.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Marcus said flatly.
Hawthorne raised an eyebrow in question.
“You do what’s right. That’s all that matters. You can’t think about that outcome.” He turned to look at the others, Rykker and Viggo shivering but determined, and Sev, implacable as ever. “We’re out here because it’s what’s right.”
“We’re out here to deal with an obstacle. I would never tell Visna this, but her child’s fate does not weigh heavily on my mind, nor does it impact the greater goals of our organization. But what will matter is the support of the Free Cities when the time comes, so I will care, so long as it serves the mission.”
Marcus, shocked at Hawthorne’s frankness, could not help but show his disgust.
“You disagree.”
“Obviously,” Marcus growled. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
“Don’t think I won’t forget.”
“I would not expect you to.”
Marcus grunted, then turned back to the task at hand. It, in fact, did not matter what Hawthorne thought. The powdery layer of snow here was up to their shins. They had come upon one of the wooden fences on the outskirts of plotted land. In the distance, untamed wilderness.
Marcus led them along the fence line, scanning for any disturbances in the soft snow. The effect would be subtle, depending on how old the tracks were, and how deep the snow was at the time the boy had come this way.
It did not take long. A few hundred yards down the line, Marcus spotted depressions in the lightly packed snow. Leading out, beyond the fence line, towards the forest.
“Damn,” he said. “The boy went east.”
Hawthorne nodded, as if expecting it. Viggo grimaced, jaw clenching against the cold. Rykker simply pulled his cloak tighter,