Seraphina smelled roasted pork, still sizzling and hot, cabbage stewed with bacon and onions, dark rye bread that was fresh and warm, butter in a small crock, and boiled potatoes with herbs. Two mugs of dark beer followed, set down with a thud.
They ate ravenously. The pork was tender, the bread soaked up the meat juices, and the beer was strong. While she ate, Seraphina listened to the conversations around her.
A group of soldiers sat at a table nearby. One of them was speaking, his voice tired but loud enough for the whole room to hear.
“It wasn’t even a battle. That’s what I keep saying. It was slaughter, plain and simple.”
Another soldier added, “Our troops were decimated last night. We lost a hundred men, maybe more.”
“Tell them what happened,” someone else urged.
The first soldier continued, “There was this man standing in the middle of the field. We saw him there, alone, no weapon insight. He started walking toward our lines, slowly, like he had all the time in the world.”
“We should have shot him down right then,” the second soldier said. “But no one did, and that was when we knew something was wrong. The closer he got, the more the men started acting strange.”
“Strange how?” the innkeeper’s wife asked.
“Agitated. Breathing heavily, panting like dogs. We could all feel it, this heat spreading through our bones, making us sweat despite the cold. Men started pulling at their clothes, tearing their uniforms to shreds with their bare hands. They threw away their weapons, their helmets, everything. Then they started falling to their knees, just dropping down in the mud. And they started eating it.”
“Eating mud?” someone whispered.
“Shoving it into their mouths, cramming dirt down their throats, crunching through worms and gravel, weeping and moaning while they did it. They couldn’t stop themselves. And this man just kept walking toward us, and even though we wanted to shoot him, we couldn’t.”
There was a beat of silence before the second soldier continued.
“Our captain had the presence of mind to run. Everyone thought he was abandoning us, running like a coward. But he ran to the back of the line, to the artillery positions. He reached the cannon crew and told them to aim at the enemy. He said, ‘Don’t stop until he’s soup.’ The man must’ve been wearing an apex relic, and when you deal with something like that…” He shook his head. “God help us all.”
“They fired two cannons,” the first soldier said. “One after the other. The first shot missed but the second one hit him dead on. At that range, canister shot tore him apart, bits of him flying everywhere. But he was so close to our own line by then thatour men got caught in the spread. Blood and shrapnel, men screaming. It didn’t matter, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Not many of those who ate mud were going to survive. Internal bleeding, poisoning. Better to end it quickly with cannon fire.”
Silence fell over the common room. People had stopped eating and drinking, heads bowed, thinking about the lives that had been lost. When someone spoke minutes later, there was barely restrained anger in their voice.
“Why don’t we have relics like that? Why does Krähenstein Academy keep powerful relics locked in their strongroom while the Harvester sends soldiers with apex relics? A single man killed a hundred people, and we’re not going to do anything about it, are we?”
No one had an answer. The silence stretched, and Seraphina knew this wasn’t the first time people had asked that question. It had been asked since the beginning of the relic war, and no one had ever come up with a satisfactory answer.
Seraphina forced herself to pick up her spoon.
“Finish everything on your plate,” she told Rune. “We can’t let ourselves be affected by this. We need to regain our strength.”
Rune obeyed halfheartedly.
“I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t listen to these stories.”
“I agree,” Seraphina said.
They were done quickly, got up, and headed for the stairs with their heads down and faces covered by their hoods. No one paid them any mind. When they entered their room, Seraphina heard the fire crackling in the fireplace. Four buckets of water waited behind the screen, steam rising from three of them.
“Can you pour the water into the tub?” she asked Rune.
He did so, then straightened his back and looked at her, as if waiting for her next order. She shuffled in place, playing with the buttons of her cloak. A gasp left his throat when he realized, and she couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of her lips.
“I’ll go sit in the corner,” he said hurriedly. “I won’t move until you’re done with your bath.”
“Thank you,” she said.
