The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(36)

“Does this creature eat its victims?” Starks asked Struen at one point. “What does it do to them?”

“Tears out their throats and mutilates the bodies. Sometimes it dismembers them. Just rips them up.”

“It doesn’t eat them?”

The other man shook his head. “Not so far. It kills mostly at night, after dark. Probably catches them unawares. You can decide for yourself.”

They arrived shortly afterward at a small farmhouse with a barn and a fenced-in pasture. Cattle grazed inside the fence, and chickens roamed the yard.

“Were any of the animals harmed?” Starks asked.

Struen shook his head.

“No damage to anything?”

Another shake of the head.

“Same with all the others who were killed?”

“Always the same. Hard to know what to think.”

Paxon knew what he thought. This was something that killed for reasons other than protection and food. It killed because it was compelled to kill or because it liked to kill or maybe even both.

They reached the farmhouse and dismounted, tying the reins of their horses to a post and looking around warily. “Inside,” Struen said.

They walked up the wooden steps to the veranda, opened the door, and went inside. The bodies were gone, but there were bloodstains everywhere. There were smears on the floor and walls, and on the furniture—most of which had been smashed. There were even blood spatters on the ceiling. It looked like the bodies had been thrown around in a rage. Paxon stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Who found them?” Starks asked.

The stable owner shrugged. “I did. I came by to help with shoeing one of the field horses. I found the door open and them inside. I buried them out back. I couldn’t stand to leave them like that.”

Paxon was wandering about the room, picking out the debris that was recognizable, noting everything. “It looks like they were in the middle of eating dinner,” he said.

Starks was back examining the door. “Was this door unlocked when you got here?”

Joffre Struen nodded. “Closed, but unlocked. But the windows are all broken out. I’m guessing that whoever got in and killed them probably came through that way.”

“Were the others killed in their own homes, too?”

Struen shook his head. “Two were. The others were in various places around their homes. Out in the barn for one. In a pasture, for another. One was killed at the miller’s, right by the grinding wheel—a young man who was visiting the daughter. The miller was away, down at the tavern. The young man was just leaving when the thing took him. The daughter heard the screams and hid in the cellar.”

Starks and Paxon exchanged a look. “How many plates do you count?” the former asked.

“Three. Someone was visiting.”

“Someone these people knew and let come inside.”

“Otherwise, the door would be locked.”

“If what killed them had to break in, it would have come through the door, locked or not. It had to be incredibly strong to do the sort of damage we’re looking at.”

“So the killer was a guest, a friend.”

“Or at least a familiar acquaintance.” Starks left the door and walked back into the room. “But I’m finding no traces of magic. All this was done with brute force. Let’s walk outside, Paxon. Struen, can you give us a few minutes to look around?”

They left the big man standing amid the debris and walked out into the yard. Starks moved in leisurely fashion toward the barn, looking about the grounds as he did so. Once, he stopped to examine some wagon tracks, kneeling in the dirt to bend close and smell the earth. Another time, he poked with his toe at something that was lying on the ground, but didn’t pick it up.

Inside the barn, they found the usual tack and harness for fieldwork, bags of feed and a bin of hay, and hand plows and scythes. This was a rudimentary farming operation, probably involving only the husband and wife.

Back outside again, Starks stopped and stood looking off into the distance. “Three place settings, an unlocked door, and a dinner cut short maybe halfway through.” He turned to Paxon. “Wagon tracks from yesterday and no wagon in the barn. Someone was here just before they were killed. But who?”

Paxon had no answers to offer. Together, they walked back up to the house. Struen had come out to stand on the veranda. “A little close in there,” he said, shrugging. “Is there anything more you want to know before we go back?”

“Were the people killed connected to each other in any special way?” Starks asked him.

The stable owner shook his head. “Just that they were part of the community, most of them born here.”

Starks nodded. “Let’s go back. Can you help us find a room for the night?”

“Got you one already. At my place, above the stables. I use it now and then for visitors. There’s no inn or rooms at the taverns. Hardly anyone outside the community passes through that isn’t kin to one of the families. Besides, I was the one who sent for you. The others, they still think Druids are more the enemy than this thing that’s killing them.”

Starks swung up into the saddle of his mount. “We aren’t the enemy, and we will prove it before we leave.” He waited as Paxon remounted and swung in next to him. “Don’t talk about this with anyone just yet. Let us do some more looking around first.”