Free Fifthwind by Ken Kiser

dusted himself
off. "Only three today, so I gave my assistant the day off."
    Ben
looked back at the cart and the three bodies. "You usually bury
more in a day?"
    "Not
everyday, but there have been over twenty this week so far. Some days
are worse than others." He pointed to the next row in the cemetery
where several freshly covered plots were lined.
    Ben
and Mason exchanged glances. They had not expected the problem to be
so severe. Ben shook his head, "Those responsible will pay soon
enough."
    The
caretaker cackled an unimpressed laugh. "Who's going to make them?
Last I checked, demons pretty much do what they like. Unquestioned
and unpunished."
    Mason
moved over to the cart and tossed back the canvas covering. There lay
three men all bearing the familiar savage wounds that they had seen
on Gordo's man. Cuts of clean steel and toothy bite marks. "It's
the same as before, Ben."
    "These...
demons," Ben asked. "They've killed twenty men this week?"
    "More
than that. But only twenty that were complete enough to justify a
burial. The rest are scattered across the fields outside of town or
farther out on the roads where they met their fates. There usually
isn't much left afterwards. What pieces we can find we give to the
pyre."
    Mason
bowed his head and muttered, "Helm, gloves and boots."
    It
was a long held tradition, that only an intact body was laid to rest
in burial. No man should ever be sent into the next life with parts
missing. A dead man must still have his head, hands and feet to be
put into the ground, hence the saying '
Helm, gloves and boots
'.
Otherwise, the remains were always respectfully given over to the
flame so that a new body might be received on the next turn of the
wheel.
    It
was getting late, and there were many questions Ben would like to
have asked the caretaker, but he was sure that Tad would have the
answers he sought. "Does that cottage down there in the trees
belong to Tad Haddaway?"
    The
caretaker pulled the first of the three bodies off of the cart by the
ankles, the body striking the ground with a grunt. "That's right.
You going to pay him a visit?"
    "We've
got business with him. Sorry for interrupting your work." Ben
grabbed Mason by the arm and tugged him away from the scene. Once
they were out of earshot, he said, "Tad had better have some
answers."
    Without
a prescribed path, it took a while for them to get down the hill, and
across the meadow to the grove that concealed the lonely cottage. The
sky was starting to drizzle when they finally arrived.
    The
house was small, but the pitched roof boasted two chimneys, one of
which was in use. A patch of unruly vegetable vines grew in the
front, and a tangle of ivy had completely overtaken the entire west
wall of the house. If not for the active chimney, they would have
thought the home was deserted. Even the windows had been boarded up.
    Mason
frowned at the run-down residence and said, "Maybe he's been too
busy to do any work on the place."
    Ben
looked again at the smoke billowing from the chimney. "Well, I
suppose we should go say hello."
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Mason
marched up to the door, and banged on it twice with his fist. He
paused to give Ben a devilish smile then bellowed, "Captain, the
enemy is closing in! Lieutenant Karr has wet himself and all the men
have run away."
    Ben
laughed aloud. He had always enjoyed the special relationship that
exists between a Sergeant and his Captain. Tad and Mason had served
together from the beginning of the war, fighting side by side for
years in places far removed from the comforts of home. Others had
come and gone, but Mason and Tad remained as a permanent testimony of
steadfast commitment. No battle was too big and no assignment was too
small. The two men were utterly loyal to one another and it had
pained them both to separate after the war.
    They
heard a quick scuffling sound from within, followed by silence. Ben
put his ear to the door, and spoke in a friendly tone. "Excuse me,
we're looking for