Chương 45: Chapter 30: The Keeper's Path - Part I

The orchard workers remain exactly where they are, staring at the tree line as though expecting the Briarthorn Tuskers to suddenly reappear and announce that the entire affair had been an elaborate misunderstanding. Ronan calls me from the back.

"I guess that means the contract is completed."

"Looks that way." The orchard worker glances toward the damaged fencing scattered throughout the orchard.

"Good." His expression suggests he has already begun calculating how much work the repairs are going to require. Around us, others begin returning to their tasks. Some gather abandoned baskets while others inspect damaged sections of fencing. Life resumes surprisingly quickly once people stop expecting to be trampled by magical beasts. I adjust Vael's staff against my shoulder, then stop. The Tuskers made sense; everything about them made sense.

The piglets; the separated herd; the repeated appearances near the orchards; even the aggression. Fear could explain all of it. The Duskrenders could not. Six solitary predators hunting together. Six corrupted beasts. The thought refuses to leave me.

"What is it?" Ronan asks. I glance back toward the forest.

"The creatures that attacked the herd."

"The large cats?" I nod.

"They shouldn't have been there." Ronan frowns, "You mean near the orchards?"

"I mean together." The orchard worker studies me for a moment before shrugging, "I'll admit I know considerably less about murderous forest predators than I do about apple trees." I nod, "Probably for the best." That earns a snort, "I'll take your word for it." My gaze drifts back toward the tree line, the unease remains. Curiosity, the sort that refuses to leave until it receives an answer.

"I need to check something."

"The cats?"

"The Duskrenders, yes." Ronan considers this, then sighs, "I was hoping the dangerous part of today was finished."

"So was I." The orchard worker disappears briefly toward one of the nearby storage sheds before returning a few moments later carrying a worn leather satchel.

"If you're planning to poke dead magical beasts, you might as well have somewhere to put whatever unpleasant thing you find." I stare at the satchel, then at Ronan.

"You seem unusually prepared for this."

"I grew up around farmers." The explanation somehow answers nothing and everything simultaneously. Accepting the satchel, I sling it over one shoulder.

"I'll return it."

"You'd better, this belongs to the owner of the orchards." I start toward the forest. After several steps, Ronan calls after me.

"Kaelen." I glance back.

"If another herd follows you out of those woods, I'm leaving, for good." A smile tugs briefly at the corner of my mouth, "Fair enough." Then I turn and head back into the forest. The clearing is not difficult to find. Broken trees mark the route long before I reach it. The smell reaches me first, blood, corruption and death. The battlefield remains much as I left it. Six Duskrenders lie scattered across the clearing while the forest slowly begins reclaiming the silence their presence had disrupted.

I stop beside the nearest corpse. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Up close, the corruption is even more obvious. Crimson veins spread beneath dark fur like cracks through glass. The creature's claws appear longer than they should. Its teeth protrude unevenly from swollen gums. Nothing about it looks natural. Slowly, I crouch beside the body. The forest around me remains wary; birds have not yet returned; neither have the smaller animals.

Whatever corruption touched these creatures lingers even after death. I reach toward the Duskrender's chest. My fingers' part the matted fur carefully. At first, I expect to find exactly what I found beneath the city. Corruption leaves traces, twisted growth, diseased tissue, flesh struggling against something it was never meant to contain. Instead, what I uncover unsettles me for an entirely different reason. The corruption has not merely infected this creature. It has adapted it.

The muscles beneath the Duskrender's hide appear denser than they should. Tendons branch in strange directions before reconnecting farther along the limb. Even the ribcage feels thicker beneath my fingertips, reinforced. As though the corruption had attempted to improve upon what nature originally created. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I draw my knife and continue the examination.

Years spent in Elarion had not exactly prepared me for dissecting magical beasts, but druids learned enough about anatomy to treat injuries, identify diseases and understand the creatures sharing the wilds with them. What I find beneath the Duskrender's hide resembles none of those things. The deeper I cut, the more obvious the alterations become; additional layers of muscle; strands of tissue woven through existing structures; small growths embedded alongside organs. Every change appears purposeful and deliberate.

The creature should not have been capable of sustaining such modifications. Yet somehow it had. I pause and glance toward the surrounding forest. Nothing approaches the clearing. The wilderness itself seems reluctant to come near these bodies. That alone tells me enough. I return my attention to the corpse and continue. Several minutes later, my knife strikes something hard. A faint scraping sound echoes through the clearing and I freeze. Slowly, I clear away the surrounding tissue. Then stare.

A stone rests within the creature's chest cavity. For a moment, I simply crouch there. Magical beasts occasionally develop beaststones. The phenomenon is rare enough that most people never encounter one. Age, strength and affinity all seem to influence the process, though even Elarion's scholars never discovered a definitive explanation. This Duskrender should not possess one, the creature is too young and too ordinary or at least, it should have been. Carefully, I lift the stone free.

The moment it leaves the corpse, an unpleasant chill crawls across my skin. The beaststone is roughly the size of a walnut. Crimson fractures spread throughout its surface, branching beneath black crystal-like veins trapped beneath glass. Wisps of shadow drift through its interior before vanishing again. I turn it slowly between my fingers. The stone feels wrong. As though something had reached inside and altered its very nature. A familiar laugh drifts through the back of my mind.

"Looooonnnggg tttiiimmmeee..." I close my hand around the stone.

"You recognize this?" For several moments, Nemain remains silent. That alone captures my attention. Usually, the blade cannot resist an opportunity to be irritating. When the voice finally returns, the amusement has disappeared.

"I kkknnnooowww wwwhhhaaattt iiittt mmmeeeaaannnsss..." I frown, "Care to explain?" Nemain's laughter returns briefly, almost nostalgic.

"Nnnooottt yyyeeettt..." I should have expected that answer. The blade rarely provides useful information without first becoming insufferable. Still, the reaction bothers me. Nemain has witnessed something similar before. The certainty settles in immediately. I tuck the beaststone into Ronan's satchel and move toward the second corpse. Part of me expects the first discovery to be an anomaly, an unusual specimen, a coincidence. The second Duskrender destroys that hope.

The beaststone lies deeper within the chest cavity, partially fused to surrounding tissue. Extracting it takes considerably longer than the first. When it finally comes free, I find myself staring at another black crystal laced with crimson fractures. Exactly the same. The third corpse yields another. By the fourth, my unease has become concern. By the sixth, concern has become something else entirely. I sit back upon my heels and look at the collection spread before me. Six Duskrenders, six corrupted beaststones.

The pattern is impossible to ignore. Magical beasts do not form beaststones with such consistency, not naturally and certainly not among creatures like these. Yet every single corrupted Duskrender possesses one. I pick up the nearest stone and allow my awareness to brush against it. The response is immediate. Mana exists within the crystal, along with power and potential. Exactly as a beaststone should. Beneath it, however, something else stirs, a hunger, a pressure.

A faint sensation that reminds me uncomfortably of standing beside the corrupted waters beneath Fallowspire. I release the stone immediately. The feeling vanishes. Slowly, I exhale. The corruption is no longer content with twisting rivers or driving creatures mad. It is changing them; strengthening them; reshaping them. The implications arrive one after another. How many corrupted beasts exist? How many carry stones like these? How many people have harvested them without realizing what they truly possess?

The questions multiply faster than answers. For once, even Nemain remains quiet. The blade had recognized the stones immediately. Whatever memory the sight awakened, it appears significant enough to silence even it. I gather the beaststones carefully and place them inside Ronan's satchel before sealing it shut. The sun has begun its slow descent toward the horizon by the time I finish. Shadows stretch across the clearing. The forest remains uneasy around the fallen Duskrenders.

Neither can I blame it nor can I ignore what I have found. The guild needs to see these. More importantly, someone needs to understand what they mean. With the satchel secured at my side, I rise to my feet and turn toward the distant road leading back to Fallowspire and this time, I do not stop.