Chapter 27 - OtyliaI don’t like this.
THE MORNING’S TRICKLE OF DREAD TURNED INTO A FLOOD as we reached a crossroad not far from Bustelintin.
Bodies were sprawled across the dirt everywhere we looked, eight of them, their throats and torsos cut with brutality. I gagged and turned away, but the sights stuck as the horrific smell of rotting entrails choked me. Who would do this?
From somewhere ahead, Marek called back, “Guys, there’s more.”
Xobas and Wacław traded glances. The general’s face was stone cold, and when Wacław averted his gaze, Xobas snatched his arm. “If you’re going to be a warrior, you need to see death.”
Wacław swallowed and forced himself to look at the bodies, shaking as he did. I felt no better.
These weren’t the first corpses I’d seen, but someone who died from illn
