[center][h3]Where dead things are[/h3][/center]

The woods were quiet. This was nothing unusual - it was rare for anything to make much of a racket when someone was around - and, indeed, that was what was good about it. Nothing unusual meant everything was going smooth.

And still, there was an unease in that silence that not even years of familiarity could dispel. Perhaps they even made it worse, as one who knew this quiet was well aware of how often it was just waiting to be suddenly broken. No matter how long one spent in it, it never got really predictable. Sometimes you would expect a shuffling to roll out of the undergrowth all of a sudden, only to go for the entire day without hearing a sound of anything alive, while on other days you could think you were having a break and could well make it to sunset without being noticed, and be sent running by a shambling just by your elbow. You never could be sure of anything anywhere, yes, but out in the woods it was at the worst. And the further you went, the worse it got.

Of course, most of the time the silence was not really all that. As long as you kept walking, whether you wanted it or not, you would keep hearing yourself. Birds still sang, somewhere overhead well out of sight, and sometimes forest streams gurgled loud enough to tell which way they were. It was only when you came close to an old place that these sounds would start fading, little by little. There were no streams in sight of the collapsed walls or toppled towers, and the birds never seemed to come very close. The old places were dead, and only a grave-worm would stir them up now. But then, if you got to live by being a grave-worm, it was a pretty good trade. Or so Red found, at least.

The squat, hirsute man edged his way past a low-hanging branch, weighed down by a mass of yellow leaves, and vaulted over a shallow burrow in the ground without taking his eyes away from the snippets of grey that peered out from between the overgrown limbs of a fallen tree some way ahead. A glance with the bottom of an eye now and then was enough for the forest floor, but the ruins, those were what was worth watching from as soon as possible. Not just because it was best to get an eyeful of what they were like early on so he did not have to mill about them longer than needed. No, he just liked the feeling of taking them in, grim and slightly unsettling as it was. A small cold jolt to the stomach at the sight of those enormous carcasses, almost like seeing an ugly corpse and thinking that something like that had been alive earlier, and maybe still was somewhere. Not quite like that - there was nothing ugly about an old place, really - but thinking of what was dead and what was not, it turned out, was almost always alike. It was good for taking his mind off of sore feet, too.

The hollow bulk he was looking at now was almost as imposing as he had ever seen them. It had to have been a castle or something like that once, with huge walls of thick stacked blocks, still marked by the jagged remains of collapsed turrets. As he wound through the last stretch of forest around it, he turned his head down more and more often, running his eyes over sparse large stones and pieces of ground-corners that still held together in spite of age. The massive had obviously not stood alone in its prime, but that had been so long ago that the wood had all but reclaimed the last traces of its hangers-on.

The place itself, though, was too big for that. Weeds had spread over its wall like rot on a proper corpse, but it would be a long time yet before they pushed anything loose. The trees near the crumbling mouth of the gateway were still thin, and the dead leaves under them mostly came from the older, taller ones he was still not quite out of. Just as much as one could not tell how long it had already stood there, it looked as though it would keep standing like that for a time that was lost far beyond the day-to-day future that everyone knew these days.

Something rustled in the distance behind his back, and Red tore his eyes away from the colossal ruin. From where he was, he could not see what had made that noise, nor the next one when it came, or the one after that. It could have been the wind, though the leaves around him looked still. He spat on a finger and held it up, feeling the air. Not even a breath. Something rustled again, closer, heavy. He strained his eyes in the direction he thought it came from, hard to tell as it was. The brush and fallen branches moved a few throws of a stone away, and bleak, swampy shapes pushed their way past the yellowing growth. The air was too still to really feel much, but even so his trained nose picked up the stench of Filth. A lot of them.

As quietly as he could, putting his feet down heel-first, Red backed behind the cover of a thick old tree. He knew well enough by then that this did not help any, since the fuckers, he was sure, did not see or maybe even hear, but felt things in some terrible way they had. Nevertheless, the gesture itself made him at least feel safer, a show less for them than for himself.

It was by far not the first time he had run across Filth like this, by day or night. He had always hidden when there was room to, though he knew that what saved him was not that, but the thing that he knew - that he was too small and too poor, that he walked too lightly over the earth to be worth their while getting. Some things you learned to remember very early when you were sure that someone knew you did. And now, like always, he less hoped than knew that they would not even nod his way and keep going whatever way they were going. Flies were not afraid when a dog went by, long as they knew for sure they were flies.

The rustling did not fade somewhere to the side. It got louder. Red frowned and peered out from the edge of the trunk. The lead grunt was not stopping or going sideways. It kept coming towards him, right towards him, gathering speed to break into a run. The rest were close behind. No mistaking that. They could not even be going for the ruin; the tree was a little off the way to it.

The grunts pushed off the ground with a foot, like a single body, and rushed ahead, arms grasping forward.

With a “Shit” over an inhaled breath, Red shoved himself away from the tree and burst into a sprint. He grabbed the axe from his belt, but did not stop or turn. To get caught in the open by that many of them would be a wish to be dead soon. The best, and, really, only hope now was the old place itself. While he had never quite seen how well the Filth found their way through something they could not so easily smash down, he had never met any very far into a standing ruin, either. Maybe they, too, lost their way as easily as green scrappers who got in too far, because they could not feel a dead place. No point thinking about that now. He would find out soon enough anyway.

It was lucky he had already been close when they caught up to him. He was still into the first rush when he crossed past the old threshold. He slowed down the faintest bit, quickly taking in the space beyond. There was a small doorway to the right into what must have been a watchman’s place and the rooms behind it, but some large stones had crumbled down to clog it on the other side. That left only the end of the passage ahead, and, pushing his feet to their full strength again, he ran for it. Behind his back, he could hear splattering footsteps and gurgling groans catching up to him. He swore again on another intake of breath.

The light at the further exit from the corridor under the walls came from a large courtyard, overgrown and littered with the broken remains of what might have once been statues or pillars. Between its size and the flash from emerging into the daylight after the short dive through the passageway’s shadows, Red’s eyes were dazzled for a moment, unable to find the closest way out. There was sure to be one in a place this large, but that certainty alone was not much help. All he could do was keep putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Filth, without tripping over the debris lying all about. Easier said than done.

Veering sideways on one foot, he sped along the wall, whose corners had been worn out by time to a soft almost-roundedness. It was a roundabout way, but mostly sure to keep him away from dangerous terrain. When a few blinks focused his sight again, he saw that perhaps it would have been better to take the risk. The grunts had emerged into the courtyard, and the first ones were moving straight ahead to cut him off in the middle of the curve he was turning. The way behind was barred by the rest, and, as if to make things even harder on purpose, the only clear doorway he could see was almost at the other end of the place.

Red could think fast if he had to, but in this case there was nothing to really think about. In a sharp turn, he broke his wall-hugging path and made directly for the doorway, avoiding the largest lumps of worn stone he could see with a corner of the eye. The head grunt, which had been aiming to catch him further away, stumbled to skid to a halt, swinging its abnormally long arms about. He had been ready for that. The head of his axe swept before him and caught the creature in the shoulder, slowing his run but pushing its already unstable footing into a stagger. A rough pull wrenched the weapon from the cloying mass, and he darted again before the grunt regained its balance and the rest caught up.

The last dash to the doorway was a narrow run, but still lax enough for him to make it. Fortunately, it was small enough for only one to pass at a time, or at least had gotten that way with age. Once a few steps inside, he let his dully aching legs and grasping lungs rest, the slightest moment, then turned about, axe at the ready. Just about in time; one of the grunts was shouldering its way behind him, one arm reaching. Another step back - the bulky limb smashed into the stone wall, knocking dust and broken pieces loose - then a lunge, and the axe came down between the beast’s headless shoulders. He pulled it back as soon as he felt the putrid flesh under the blade soften into yielding ooze, and sprang further into the building as the rapidly melting hulk he had left behind was trampled by its fellows in pursuit.

Inside, the ruin had held much better, though only insomuch as fewer doors and rooms were buried in collapsed ceilings. Red did not take the time to check them as he passed, but from quick glances they were mostly barren, except for mounds of dust and mouldering wood that could once have been furniture. Any of them would have been worth rustling over to see if something good was left underneath, but this time he did not have the leisure. What he needed was a place that would do for hiding. He did not go into how that would or would not help shake off the Filth - first he found it, and then he could figure out the rest.

The corridor turned, sometimes split at sharp angles - he always took the right, no point mucking things up now - climbed up steep stairs, slick with wear. It hit him he had not realised how big the place really was from out there, or maybe he had just not expected so much of it to be intact. Rooms, corridors, more rooms, a few huge hallways. The edges of his sight were starting to go dark. He could no longer hear how close the Filth were over his ragged breathing and the thumping of his heart. He was getting exhausted, and the clear spaces showed no sign of giving way to complete ruin. A thought flashed through his dimming mind - he had better make use of that before he was caught in an actual dead end.

A room that looked bigger than the rest flashed ahead along the corridor, and he dove into it when it came into reach. Panting, he glanced around. A big window, he had never broken from the wallside. Dust everywhere, dust and cobwebs. This place had been well-stocked once. His tired head ran through with amazement when he saw in the wall to the right, behind a large grey mound scattered with the rotted remains of ancient planks, another, smaller dark doorway. A long time ago, something had apparently stood covering it, though now only thick webs hung across its frame. So, Red thought. If it had been a hiding place of some kind back then, maybe, it could just as well be one now. The cobwebs meant there could not be an ambush inside. Brushing the dusty threads aside, he edged into the dark space.

By then, he had recovered enough to hear the sounds hounding him again. The heavy, damp-sounding steps were closer than he had hoped, though there were thankfully few of them. Only one. He breathed with relief - they had split up. While that still left him with at least this one on his back, it meant they could not find him all together. Even now, the odds would have been stacked against him. The rooms might have been narrow, but he was run out, and they never got tired.

One was a lot better, but, if he was not careful, still enough to do him in. As the steps approached, he hoped, this time for real, that they would go past the room, further down the corridor. But, as soon as the thought had taken shape in his head, a squat, thickset bulk with long grasping arms trampled through the doorway. They felt, of course. They did not need to see. The grunt moved, with its blind confidence, straight towards the once-hidden opening. That was bad. If he was going to make the best of the obstacle, he had to back away. One step, two, the creature came closer, three -

His back hit something large and heavy. With his attention fully on the grunt, the start was so strong he jumped with a loud “Godsfuck!”, almost losing his grip on the axe. The grunt, either having its senses confirmed or seeing an opening to strike, lunged. It was still too far to land a proper blow, but a club-like hand caught him under the shoulder, sending him careening back. The creature sprang forward to press its advantage, but its broad frame was caught in the doorway - just long enough for Red to regain his feet. A step ahead, then to the side, avoiding another blow, and the axe cut through the pustulent surface the thing had instead of a head.

Breathing heavily, he stumbled out into the light, shoving the liquefying carcass to the side with a foot. He smiled to himself as he noticed a faint grimy, misshapen footprint between the doorway and the corridor. It would have been too much to hope that stepping into that one puddle at the entrance would have been enough for the grunts to leave a complete path up to there, but if something was still visible, it meant that a few hints would be left here and there for getting out or avoiding the others. That would save him a good deal of head-scratching later.

The others, right. He listened, rubbing the dull pain where the grunt’s blow had glanced across his arm, and struggled to pick up the faintest sound over the distant noises of the forest that came through the window. Nothing coming closer. The creatures were sure to still be somewhere inside, and would be for a while, but it looked like he was safe for now. For everything they could be, he had rarely come across Filth being quiet. If another got there, he would know it ahead of time.

Leaning against the dusty wall gave him a moment to think about the whole thing. They had come after him, on his own, for the first time, and a lot of them too. Why was that? He had always been careful not to take anything they would want - his axe and knife were good, but old, and he had been wearing these clothes for years. He had not changed anything about those lately, and everything he picked up he made sure to sell straight away. Right, except-

His hand went to the large bag hanging behind his shoulder. A firm, sharp circle shape poked into his fingers through the leather. Course, it had to be that. Biggest prize in a long while, so big that none of the regulars had the pocket for it. It was not as though he had not suspected that taking the crown back into the wilds would not bring him any trouble, but he had nowhere safe to leave it otherwise - important rule for someone who went around, no such thing as a safeplace - and he for sure had not expected that kind of mob. He had thought of the idea behind crowns, of course, that the ones who used to wear them were just the kind the Filth were after now, but really? A rusty old hoop suddenly mattered more than the kind of folk he had been his whole life?

He chuckled. Did he expect the Filth to see through anything? He was not sure they were dumb, but they sure had never cared for that kind of stuff.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the smaller doorway. The crown had landed him in this shit, but there would be better time to deal with it when he had gotten out of there. For now, he was in a fresh old place, with a hiding spot of some kind right in front of him. If he had ever seen something like a perfect place for finding things, it had to be this one. Besides, he should check what he had bumped into.

Red reached into a smaller pouch at his side and produced a thick tallow candle, already burned out a third of the way through but missing the lines of old molten rivulets, followed by a rag and a small bundle. The rag was wrapped around the candle’s base, old traces of caked tallow bared as he unfolded it, and, as he held it between three spare fingers, the firesteel from the bundle threw a few sparks from between his thumb and free hand. One of them caught the wick, and he held the wavering light into the dim chamber.

Unlike most dark places he had been in, being open to the window in the next room had left the air barely stale at all, and the candle burned well. The thing he had stepped into was a tall mass of wrinkled stone and shadows. He moved closer, holding the flame higher.

An etched face met his eyes with its own stern, unmoving stare. A statue. The edges of its figure were dull and nondescriptly smooth with years, but, inside its little hiding place, it had held much better than most of its kind he had seen before. He could even still see some of the cleverly carved finer lines of a different, fleshier kind of age around its wilful-looking features. Whoever this had been, she had sure gone on looking pretty fine into her older times. Unless, he thought with a smirk, the one who had made this had just been buttering her up this way for some extra coin. Or some special noble kind of favour, he silently added, noticing a crown on the sculpted woman’s brow. It was a simple, almost plain sort of circlet, but a crown was a crown, as even the Filth had proved to him. Besides, with all the work that had to have gone into the face, maybe the artist just could not be arsed to spend a lot of time on a fancier thing.

Impressive as it was, a statue that big was not something he could take, and he lowered his eyes to the floor, sweeping the candle’s glow around the room. Like he had expected, there was not much that jumped out at first sight. What might once have been chairs in a far corner - he smeared the dust under them flat to see if anything was there, but did not touch the wooden heaps themselves; that was sure to be bad luck. A small mound in the other corner did not have anything, either. Strange, he had missed one just by the statue’s base. Not that it was any more likely - no, see. Something dully glistened in the candlelight at his feet.

Bending down with a huff, Red picked up the small piece of metal, fingers sliding carefully around rough stains of rust. A ring, looked too small to fit on his finger, though maybe if he tried… Not with all that rust on it, anyway. It had to be iron. Nothing too precious-looking in that, but the shape was a strange one. It had some pieces that poked out in a spot, like one of those, how were they, signets fancy ones sometimes had. He had never seen any on something as dull as an iron ring, though. It was nothing too fine-looking, either, just a few tall squares. They looked a bit like what houses would be if they would just turn out the way they were meant to. The fact they were not even in size just made them look even more like a row on a street, if a street only got a little taller than the space between a nail and a finger.

With a hum, he slipped the ring into a pouch and cast about in a last attempt to find something around the room. No luck, of course, but he felt he had already found more than enough. It was strange enough for just an iron jewel to have signs on it like that, and he sure as damn did not remember seeing any of that kind before. Maybe something very long ago - nah, unlikely. Either way, he had already been thinking of going to see the folks in Jornoston about the crown. He would keep this other odd thing aside for them, too. They might know what was up with it, and if not, well, they sure would find something better to do with it.

His thoughts went ahead as he stepped out of the room and blew out the candle, frowning. This place was the other side of Kendles, which meant he would have to stop there at least for the night, and he had nothing else to sell. Red leaned against the dusty wall near the window as he wrapped up and pocketed both candle and rag. He would have to go through at least some other rooms and look for smaller things to trade on the way, that was for sure. But not right now. Better wait until the rest of the Filth might have left, or at least a couple more came by there so he could take them out for sure.

He sure could use a bit of rest, anyway.