Chapter 8: The Trail

'Bout an hour or so before the sun rises, we wake one another up and go get our stuff together. Along with our weapons, we take two bags, packing flint, tinder, eight torches, two yards of bandages, two doses of antivenom, a compass, some bullets and powder for Bressac's rifle, and enough food and water to last the three of us two days – just in case. Out here, it pays to be prepared.

"You two are carrying the packs," says Guy, when we look at him. He's never been a morning person, and he's cranky as hell. The fact the Weald's cold as the grave this time of night ain't helping his mood none either – I can see my breath by the light of the fire, and the three of us are shivering. "I spent half yesterday lugging those fucking cannonballs."

"I spent half yesterday lugging the fucking cannon, and you don't see me complaining," I point out. I'm tempted to point out that he spent half yesterday losing the cannonballs, but pissing off someone his size is a bad idea.

"Besides, the biggest man should carry the load," Bressac argues. I nod in agreement, but Guy's having none of it.

"The biggest man should get his way," Guy snaps back. "And I don't feel like carrying that shit."

Can't argue with that, so I quietly shoulder the pack. After a moment, Bressac follows suit, muttering to himself, and the three of us head out.

This close to dawn, there's almost no one up – just the cannon crew playin' cards by the light of a candle. I give the matchman a wave as we go past, and he waves back. Once we're out of the camp, we pick our way down to the wreck of the carriage, then turn off into the section of woods we charged into yesterday. As soon as we're into the Weald proper, Guy lights a torch so we don't have to grope around in the dark. Then Bressac starts hunting for their trail.

Bressac's a whiner – he starts complaining the second we're away from the camp, talking about how much of a pain in the ass it is to come out here, how there's no point to it and so on. I quickly tune it out, but all the same he don't let up for more than a few minutes at a time 'til Guy roars at him to shut his yap. He mostly keeps quiet after that. Still, he knows what he's doing when it comes to tracking. I tried to find my way around in this mess, I'd get lost for sure, but with Bressac looking around it's not twenty minutes gone by before we emerge into the clearing where Florent died.

Something ate most of the two bodies last night – a scavenger probably. I can only tell which body belonged to Florent because the Hellion's glaive took off most of his face above the nose, and it's hard to mistake a death that messy. That, and when I look at the corpse's teeth – easy, since the lips are gone – I see the familiar set of cavities. I quickly check his pockets, but find nothing: if he had anything of value on him, Blondie and the Hellion must've taken it. Guy lumbers over to have a look as I'm finishing up.

"They cleaned him out," I say. "Nothing but leftovers."

"Hmph," he replies. "Done the same in their place."

"Yeah," I nod. "I would've too. Shame though. I liked him."

He just shrugs. "One less man means we get a bigger share when we find the treasure."

"If we find the treasure," says Bressac.

"Shut it," Guy and I snap at the same time.

"You shut it," he says wearily. "And take a look at this."

He holds up a strip of blue cloth.

"The blonde had a coat this colour," he says. "Must've snagged it on a branch. And look – there's a bootprint in the dirt here. So that means they went north, toward the Hamlet."

"The hell did they know which way the Hamlet is?" I ask. "Don't think any of them had a compass..."

"Last night, you said they'd be heading that way for sure," observes Guy.

"Er…" I croak, caught off-guard. "Well, I didn't think of that until now. That they might get lost, I mean."

"Seems your first instinct was right anyhow," says Bressac. "Maybe they do have a compass. Or they could just be heading in the right direction by luck. Don't matter, anyway, as long as we can follow 'em."

"I suppose you're right," I admit. I take a moment, then start thinking aloud. "Well, it weren't more'n an hour they could've travelled before night fell, and they probably weren't stupid enough to try and travel in the dark…"

"Meaning they're close," says Bressac. "Hell, if they didn't try leaving before dawn like us, we might still catch them sleeping."

"So we gotta move quiet, then," says Guy. "You're sure you can find them?"

"I found their trail, didn't I?" he replies. "They won't escape me. Count on it."

That's good enough for us, so we follow him back into the brush.