Chapter 459: The First Signs

Dunmere was smaller than Sage had expected.

After spending weeks inside the Royal Capital, where a single district could swallow several ordinary towns, arriving at a settlement of several hundred stone-and-timber buildings felt almost strange.

Dunmere sat between broad stretches of farmland and rolling pasture, with the dark green mass of Greyfen March rising several miles beyond its northern fields. A low wooden wall surrounded most of the settlement, while watch platforms had been erected along the northern side.

Those platforms looked considerably newer than the wall itself, and the armed villagers standing on them were watching the distant forest instead of the road.

Rowan noticed that before anyone else.

He slowed his horse as they approached the gate, studying the watch platforms, the freshly sharpened stakes driven into the earth and the livestock crowded unusually close to the settlement.

"They’ve moved the herds," Rowan said, his gaze shifting toward several fenced enclosures beside the southern wall. "Those animals should be grazing outside at this hour."

Lucan followed his attention. "Because of the monster attacks?"

"Probably," Rowan replied, although his expression suggested he wasn’t satisfied with that explanation.

Sage said nothing. Greyfen was Rowan’s territory in every sense that mattered. Sage might possess Aetheric Insight Eyes and enough magic to solve problems through overwhelming force, but he couldn’t read a forest from hoofprints and broken branches.

Rowan could. So when they entered Dunmere and a nervous village elder hurried forward to greet the Adventurer Guild representatives, Sage deliberately remained half a step behind the Half-Elf.

The elder introduced himself as Maron and quickly led them toward the northern fields. Two shepherds had lost seventeen sheep over nine days, three cattle had disappeared, and several farmers had begun finding tracks near their properties.

Maron repeatedly called the attackers Greyfang Jackals until Rowan crouched beside a muddy depression near a damaged fence and ran two fingers along the edge of a print.

"These aren’t jackal tracks," Rowan said.

Maron blinked. "But Hessel saw them."

"He probably did." Rowan pointed toward several smaller prints almost hidden beneath the larger impressions. "Those are Greyfang Jackals. These aren’t."

Mina crouched beside him and examined the marks. "Ashback Wolves?"

Rowan glanced at her with mild approval. "Good."

Mina smiled immediately.

Lucan dismounted and approached from the other side. "How can you tell? Besides being irritatingly experienced."

Rowan placed his palm beside the print. "Size first. Ashbacks are heavier. Their front paws spread wider under weight, especially in wet ground. Look here."

He indicated the deeper forward impression. "The claws also sit differently. Jackals leave narrower tracks and usually travel with less spacing between animals. More importantly, these prints overlap the jackal tracks."

Iris adjusted the satchel hanging from her shoulder. "Meaning the wolves came later?"

"Meaning at least these wolves did," Rowan corrected calmly. "Don’t assume more than the ground tells you."

Sage smiled slightly at that.

They followed the trail beyond the damaged fence. Rowan stopped constantly, but never without purpose. He examined tufts of wool caught on thorn bushes, broken grass, old blood on a stone and droppings Mina nearly stepped on before Rowan caught her shoulder.

Mina looked down and immediately grimaced. "You could have warned me earlier."

"I just did," Rowan replied.

Lucan covered a laugh with one hand.

Rowan crouched and broke apart the dried droppings with a stick. Iris leaned closer with considerably more interest than Mina, while Sage remained a comfortable distance away.

"What are you looking for?" Iris asked.

"Diet." Rowan shifted several fragments aside. "Hair. Small bones. Beetle shell. Almost no livestock."

Maron frowned. "But they’ve been taking our animals."

"Some have," Rowan replied as he stood. "This wolf wasn’t feeding around Dunmere for long."

They continued north.

At the edge of the cultivated fields, Rowan found the remains of one missing sheep beneath a thicket. The carcass had been partially eaten, but instead of immediately inspecting the wounds, he walked a complete circle around the site.

He studied the grass, touched several broken branches and eventually crouched near a patch of exposed soil.

Lucan watched him for several seconds before asking, "You’re looking at everything except the dead sheep."

"The dead sheep isn’t going anywhere," Rowan replied.

Lucan nodded thoughtfully. "Excellent point."

Rowan finally approached the carcass. "Three wolves fed here. Possibly four. One larger than the others. They ate quickly and left."

Sage looked toward the forest. "How do you know they left quickly?"

Rowan pointed toward what remained of the carcass. "Because there’s still meat."

Maron looked confused. "Wouldn’t they leave some?"

"Not Ashbacks with an uncontested kill this size." Rowan stood and wiped his hand against the grass. "They should have fed, rested nearby and returned. Instead they abandoned it."

Iris’s expression sharpened. "Something frightened them away."

"Maybe."

That word followed them through the rest of the afternoon.

Maybe.

Rowan refused to turn suspicion into fact merely because it fit his expectations. They examined two more attack locations before returning to Dunmere and speaking with the people who regularly entered Greyfen.

The first was an elderly hunter named Old Bren, whose left hand was missing two fingers and whose small house contained enough animal skulls to make Mina stare openly.

Bren listened to Rowan’s questions while sharpening a hunting knife, then finally set the blade aside.

"You want to know what’s strange?" Bren asked, leaning forward in his chair. "The forest’s quiet."

Rowan’s posture changed almost imperceptibly. "Where?"

"North," Bren answered. "Past Coldwater Creek. Used to hear Razorwings screaming before sunrise. Barkhorns during mating season too. Annoying bastards could wake the dead. Last time I went that far, nothing."

"How long ago?" Rowan asked.

"Eight days."

Rowan leaned forward. "Did you see corpses?"

Bren shook his head. "No."

"Blood?"

"No." Old Bren shook his head.

"Signs of a large predator?" Rowan asked again.

"Nothing I recognized." Bren rubbed his weathered jaw. "That’s why I came back. A forest full of monsters doesn’t become peaceful. Peaceful means something has gone wrong."

Rowan’s eyes narrowed.

The second account was worse.

A farmer named Ellas had been travelling home from a northern charcoal camp when he saw several monsters crossing the road ahead of his wagon. He initially assumed they were hunting until he realized what he was seeing.

"There were wolves," Ellas explained, gripping his cup with both hands. "Ashbacks. Five, maybe six. Then two boars came through the brush behind them."

Mina frowned. "They were fighting?"

Ellas shook his head quickly. "That’s the thing, young miss. They weren’t. One wolf passed close enough to bite the smaller boar, but it didn’t even look at it. The boars didn’t charge either. They all kept running south."

Rowan exchanged a glance with Sage.

Lucan’s usual amusement had disappeared. "Animals that normally kill each other decided they had something more important to worry about."

"Yes," Rowan replied quietly.

By late afternoon, they had collected seven similar accounts.

Different locations. Different monsters. The same direction.

South.

Rowan spread their map across a table inside Dunmere’s small meeting hall and marked every confirmed sighting. Iris stood beside him while Sage, Mina and Lucan watched the pattern emerge.

The marks formed a widening trail from northern Greyfen toward the settlements below it.

Iris traced the pattern without touching the parchment. "Could something be driving them south?"

"Something is," Rowan answered.

Sage looked at him. "You’re certain now?"

Rowan nodded. "This isn’t migration. Migrating animals follow food, breeding patterns, weather or mana changes. Predators follow prey. Territorial monsters move when defeated by something stronger, but usually one species at a time."

He tapped three marks. "Here we have Ashback Wolves, Ironhide Boars and Greyfang Jackals leaving overlapping territories. Razorwings have abandoned nesting grounds. Smaller creatures are appearing outside the forest. They’re not moving together because they suddenly became friendly."

"They’re fleeing," Mina said.

Rowan looked toward her. "Yes."

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Before sunset, Rowan insisted on checking one final location. A hunter had reported vultures circling near an abandoned logging trail two miles northwest of Dunmere. Maron tried to convince them to wait until morning, but Rowan wanted to see the site before darkness or scavengers destroyed whatever evidence remained.

They reached it as the evening light began fading.

Rowan dismounted first. Almost immediately, his expression changed.

Sage noticed. "What is it?"

Rowan didn’t answer immediately. He crouched beside the trail and touched a deep indentation in the soil. Then another. His eyes followed them toward the trees.

"Something heavy passed through here," Rowan finally said. "Recently."

Mina tightened her grip on her shield.

They entered the forest on foot.

Rowan moved differently now. No unnecessary conversation. No explanations unless required. Every few dozen steps he stopped to examine bark, disturbed leaves or broken vegetation. Eventually he raised one fist.

Everyone stopped.

The smell reached them seconds later.

Blood.

They found the first tree splintered nearly six feet above the ground.

The second had three enormous claw marks carved through its bark.

Lucan drew his sword. Iris quietly raised one hand as earth mana gathered around her fingers, while Mina moved closer to Sage without being told.

Rowan continued forward.

Then the trees opened into a small clearing.

Something enormous lay in the middle of it.

The creature was nearly the size of a wagon, covered in dark grey scales with two thick horns curling from its skull. Four muscular legs ended in claws capable of tearing through timber, and a ridge of jagged bone ran down its spine.

Mina stared. "What is that?"

Rowan didn’t answer. For the first time since Sage had met him, the Half-Elf looked genuinely disturbed.

He approached the corpse carefully and crouched beside its head. Sage followed, noticing the deep wound running through the creature’s chest. Whatever had struck it had broken scales, shattered bone and penetrated almost completely through the torso.

Iris stopped several feet away. "Do you recognize it?"

Rowan remained silent for several seconds before answering. "Gravehorn Ravager."

Lucan looked toward the massive corpse. "I’m guessing that’s bad."

"Very." Rowan touched one of the scales and examined the blood beneath it. "They live much deeper in Greyfen. Farther north than any hunter from Dunmere normally travels."

Sage looked around the clearing. There was no feeding marks, no missing flesh, no scavengers. Nothing had touched the corpse.

"When did it die?" Sage asked.

"Less than two days ago," Rowan replied.

Iris stared at the untouched body. "Then whatever killed it wasn’t hunting for food."

Rowan slowly stood. His gaze moved north, toward the darkening forest beyond the clearing.

"No," Rowan said, his expression hardening. "And this thing wasn’t coming south to hunt either."

Sage looked at the enormous Gravehorn Ravager lying dead behind them.

It had been running..Just like everything else.

Except whatever was spreading through northern Greyfen had caught it.