Just how bad things had spiraled in Cormoran remained to be seen.
It could not just be bandits, men-at-arms would not fret from this little. It could not be enemy colors, they would gain nothing from hiding that.
So it could only be the consequences of war, of a castle burned and a village exposed that would have pushed them on the roads, looking better fortune elsewhere. She could only envision men fretting from a lord without a populace to rule over.
Even then, that was a poor, pointless lie to make.
But the carriage had reached the base of the hill as well. With that renewed escort it followed the road's long curve that led to the village.
At this pace they would reach it before noon.
With not a half-day to spare she knew sir Corentin would immediately head for the church where, as the hunter had said, he would get his wedding.
And his crown.
She had to forget about whatever scheme the humans were running in their future lord's back and focus on her own ordeal. To stay with that noble she would have to survive their saintess.
To fail meant little to her other than more shame.
So she had to succeed.
"Brother Aymon," the hunter verified, "tell us frankly, what awaits us?"
"I don't know, sir."
Of them all the priest was the most distressed. He kept glancing at Joan, not daring to look directly as if that could taint her.
"I just know the church's bell should have ringed again."
"The hill is blocking it." Brenin observed. "Don't see the devil everywhere."
"No, no I'm afraid the blessed can hear bells better than us."
Had he not sit next to a werewolf, had he not been turned into one himself, the man would have called them crazy.
But now Brenin had been thrown in a realm where the clergy he knew was not just spreading the saintess' word but battling evil forces in the shadows.
And bells rang spiritually too.
"It doesn't matter." Joan cut them.
She looked at them, a silent order for them all to calm down.
"Soon, this domain will have a lord. Any ill will be resolved soon enough."
"Amen." Grisval concluded.
Above them lay rows and rows of vines, grape red and heavy, turning black for the lowest hanging fruits. The plants had decayed even before the cold could reach them.
Only a couple old farmers on the slope tended to them.
But the village appeared beyond that landscape, houses stretching from the stream to the slope of the second hill. Beyond rested ruins from which people had picked stone for their own needs.
It looked quiet, if empty.
There was little activity, few animals but still the noise of hammers and churns kept it alive.
Whereas in Pivert the church stood at the village's edge, just on the other side of the stream, in Cormoran because of the hills it had been built at equal distance inbetween. So the church stood in the middle of the fields.
Its main building was just as large, but because of the distance it had adjoining buildings akin to a farm: stable, granary, a workshop for pottery as well as a space to crush the resin.
It even had its own well.
It was in ruins.
Flames had devoured its roof and framework, leaving walls nude. The few glass windows had shattered under the heat. Its other buildings had collapsed.
The only part spared by that destruction was the bell tower, with the bell itself intact, holding, ready if not for the lack of rope.
At this sight brother Aymon let out the scream of a wounded animal.
The whole troop had stopped, stunned at that view. For Joan again it meant little but around her the humans acted as if a hole had been torn in their reality.
They barely reacted when Aymon fell from the carriage to rush ahead, stopped eventually by Grisval who had run after him.
Both felt a rider pass them by in a gallop. Knight Frederic had seen the carriage stop, had approached and seeing this in turn had rushed at full speed to reach those ruins.
Still no one else followed.
The coachman, finally, pulled the reins to turn the carriage around. His oxes, not the least interested in human affairs, pulled at his order, out of the road in a circle before the footmen rushed to stop him.
"What do you think you are doing?!"
"Are you blind?!" The commoner answered. "This place is damned! I'm not dying here!"
"We'll kill you ourselves if you try!"
But he had to be dragged off his seat: "We are cursed! We are cursed! The saintess has abandoned us!"
Before they could put a dagger to his throat Brenin had jumped off as well, rushed to him and punched his face down to the dirt.
"Shut up!"
He was a wreck himself, torn to the core, his nerves so thin as to hold by nothing.
"You shut! Up! You speak ill of the saintess once more and I bury you where you stand!"
The coach spit on the man's mantle, furious.
"Use your eyes! If you stay here..."
He picked him up with more strength than he knew he had.
"Look at me! No, look at the priest! You see him flee? No? Then have some faith you idiot! You prayed with us, was that for show?"
"What good is..."
"Eh! I cut wood, you carry goods, let others handle our souls! Alright? You would not even look good in a robe! Now, go wash yourself and get it together."
This finally calmed the man who saw his opportunity to flee no matter the horsemen. So he walked away, toward the stream, and as he did he got time to realize not just the presence of horsemen but the words he was told.
He would come back, Joan observed.
"Thanks." A guard came to Brenin. "For handling him and for those words. I was losing it myself."
"Same." Brenin admitted.
"Still. It's... No, let's leave it at that."
At the same time Grisval was bringing the priest back to them, still patting his back while the young man despaired. He was in tears. For all the shaken men it was the last thing they needed to see.
Sir Corentin gestured for everyone to get back onboard.
When they did, the hunter's eyes fell on Joan. They were deliciously deadly, yet she hated the accusation.
It was only natural to suspect the beast.
Brenin came back last, his mantle dirtied by the adventure. He sat in silence, all busy brushing it, without a look for her or the others.
Beyond the shock was a deeper fear in that man who knew himself to be a devil. If truly those men thought themselves damned then for him it was only magnified.
The coachman came back last, hurried to his seat and brought the carriage back onto the road. It would still take a while for them to reach the ruins, minutes and minutes during which none could avert their eyes from it.
Brenin had fallen in a prayer, soon followed by the brother.
It made her head hurt, but she feigned feeling nothing, her sight back at that church. Her own fear was for this to have somehow been her fault.