The next day, the entire village of Pianjian woke up to a haze of foul smoke. The smell was unnerving. Normally, smoke smelled charred and woody.
This smoke smelled rotten.
The Pianjian villagers who were healthy enough to walk gathered together at the southern edge of the village, murmuring and staring at the Roatian camp spread out over the hills. Or…what was left of it. Which was practically nothing.
Every red tent had been burned to the ground.
Every horse had been released.
Every part of the grass was littered with blackened soot and strange-shaped mounds.
Were those oddly-shaped, blackened mounds? Or were they…
"Bodies!" a villager rasped, pointing. "Someone's burned the Roatians to the ground! They're all burned to death!"
