Cyrus raised his hood as they made their way down the street, shivering as the rain seeped into the threads. 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. By the Halls of Osyras, why is everyone 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'll take at least five days to get there 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 comparison. 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 beasts 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.