A brightening appeared ahead, where the sun fell unimpeded into a cleared area, and she continued her careful progress forward. When she reached the edge, she saw that she had come upon the lumber camp they’d been looking for. There were a few log buildings—bunkhouses, a main lodge, kitchen, and work pavilion, crude stables. Something about it looked wrong.

She skirted the clearing, and as she did so, the changing view revealed that a couple of the buildings had burned. One of the bunkhouses was a shell. Little stirred in the clearing but squirrels and birds. What had happened here?

She tripped over a tree root but caught herself before she fell headlong into a pool of mud. When she turned to give the root a piece of her mind, she realized it wasn’t a root at all, but a human arm protruding from a half-melted snowdrift. She leaped back clamping down on a scream. She attempted to calm her racing heart and catch her breath as she processed the sight. An arrow also protruded from the snowdrift. It was an ordinary arrow with goose feather fletching that looked as if it had been exposed to the weather for some time.

She gathered her courage and scooped away snow. Beneath, she found a man in woodsman’s garb lying face down, the arrow deep in his back as though he had been trying to run away. It was hard to tell how long dead he was for the snow and cold would have slowed down decomposition.

She found no more corpses on the perimeter, and when she was convinced there were no threats lurking about, she searched the camp’s grounds. She found five more corpses, but as they were more exposed, their bodies were more decayed, and in some cases, partially eaten and torn apart by scavengers. One had a couple arrows stuck about its ribs. It was harder to tell what had killed the others. Blades?

She hastened back to Enver and Estral, trying to dispel the images of her gruesome discoveries from her mind. Condor whickered at her approach. She went to him and hugged his neck.

“What is it?” Estral asked. She had found a boulder in the sun on which to sit, and now stood.

Karigan faced her and Enver. “I found the camp.” After a drink from her waterskin, she explained, finishing with, “There was no one there. No one alive.”

“My father?” Estral asked in a quavering voice.

“I—I don’t think any of them were your father.” After a pause, she added, “I think we should go there, put those men to rest.” Not that she wanted that grim task, but it was the right thing to do. “And maybe we can find some clue about who attacked them.” The arrows hadn’t looked like crude groundmite arrows, though groundmites were known to use stolen weapons, but she was already pretty sure the men must have been cut down by Second Empire.

They rode in silence to the camp. When they reached the clearing, Karigan directed Estral to care for the horses, and she and Enver started collecting wood for a pyre. The ground was too frozen for digging, and the job of raising a cairn too great. Karigan sacrificed a tarp for the carrying of remains. Fighting her revulsion, she searched the corpses for anything that might identify them or the attackers, but found only one ring, some dice, and a couple pipes. As she worked, Estral joined them, and to her surprise, gazed hard at the bodies. Karigan had sent her to take care of the horses to spare her the gruesome sight.

“None of them are my father,” Estral said.

“I didn’t think so,” Karigan replied. None had had his stature or golden hair.

“I had to make sure.”

Karigan nodded in understanding. She searched the nearby woods to make sure she hadn’t missed any other corpses. She could find no more, and when she returned, they covered the dead as much as possible with the one tarp, piled more wood on top, and lit the pyre as Estral sang a mournful song of leave-taking.

When all was done, they retreated into the main lodge of the camp to escape the smoke and stench of the pyre, and to regroup. Taking care of the dead men had occupied most of their afternoon, so it was decided they would spend the night there.

“I think we should keep a watch tonight,” Karigan said. The dead lumbermen were, to her, a warning. “And no more fires.” She was beginning to regret the pyre—no doubt the smoke could be seen for miles. Would it draw those who had attacked the camp to investigate? The Lone Forest was still a day’s ride away, but what if there was a Second Empire patrol somewhere in the vicinity?

“The pyre will be burning into the night,” Enver said. “I do not think another small fire in the hearth will be of further harm.”

“It is damp in here,” Estral added.

“Very well,” Karigan said, “one last fire.”

She set about righting chairs along a heavy table. The main lodge was pretty empty, the supplies likely stolen, or already sent south with other lumbermen who’d been done for the season. Enver went out to tend the pyre and check the remains of the other buildings once more, while Estral prepared to build a fire from the supply of wood stacked beside the hearth.

“What is this?” Estral exclaimed. She was tugging something out from between sticks of wood.

Karigan joined her by the hearth. “What did you find?”

Estral held a leather pouch. She opened it and shook out the contents. Two gold, glistening objects fell onto her hand. “I know these,” she whispered. “My father was here.” She held a gold signet ring, and a brooch in the shape of a harp that was the badge of a Selium minstrel. “The ring has been passed down through generations of Fioris.”

Karigan could not dispute the evidence. Lord Fiori had been there, but where was he now? Did his body lie somewhere out in the forest where they couldn’t find it? She dared not say it aloud.