The search for their two assailants had been stalled by a sudden stormfront, bringing ill winds and thick snowflakes.

It had taken two days until the storm had subsided again, and the two men reconvened by the edge of the forest. It was clear the assassins would be untraceable, yet Adebar felt that, if any place were to house a witch, it would be the forest immediately surrounding Gostahof. She couldn’t have escaped too far away, if she still wished to meddle with the villagers.

“You reckon she keeps in touch with the poor fools, Herr?” Holzer posited, wading through waist-high snow, through the lightly wooded forest-edge.

“I believe she must have her claws in them somehow. At least the Count seemed to believe so. In truth, Holzer, I do not know what awaits us.”

The snow thinned, now kept aloft by the branches of the closely-packed trees, throwing dark shadows that seemed impenetrable.

“You have spent your time among these people. Do they seem bewitched to you?”

Holzer led the way deeper, looking around once in a while, imitating the gait of a stork.

“Dunno Herr. I asked them about some old crone, seemed a bit unsure, if anything.

That Elder though, all I ‘ear Herr Stubner ‘as been quite nervous since you arrived. At least Frau Herlein seemed to think so. Not that I’d listened in, just came up at the table.”

Von Bolstedt couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. It seemed Holzer had been a worthwhile companion already.

They carried on through the woods, aiming to follow the treeline. Once or twice the halted, Holzer followed a trail, before disregarding it as an animal spoor.

The woodsman was adept at sneaking through the snowy bushes, making few sounds. Compared to him Adebar felt clumsy and dumb. What irked the nobleman even more than personal failings was the quietude of the forest.The crunch of their boots and the very occasional snapping of a branchwere the only sound to pierce the deathly silence.

He was about to give in to the temptation to speak, when Holzer froze, sinking to his haunches quickly. Adebar followed the example, hand on the cold hilt of his rapier, eyes snapping to and fro. The hunter was inspecting something before him.

Creeping up further von Bolstedt saw what had given his companion pause.

There, in the snow, were the trails of large hounds, accompanied by goat-hooves that were decidedly too large.

Beastmen.

They carried on slowly, and carefully, following the agreed semi-circle around the settlement. If the Beastmen dared get this close the situation was dire indeed. Still, if Gostahof worked quickly, the castle would surely be able to resist any lousy band of tainted monsters. For a moment Adebar considered whether the witch had any correlation with the boldness of the beasts, but he discarded such notions nigh instantly. The Beastmen were atavistic monsters, without cunning and guile enough to treat with humans. Such things were simply impossible.

Time crept on just as they did, slowly, deliberately and fearing haste.

Adebar didn’t know how much time had passed when they came upon the small clearing.

The first thing that marked this place was a lack of much of the snow that had fallen. The air was thick and carried a scent that was both earthy and sweet.

The clearing was vaguely circular, surrounded by trampled ground.

At the centre of it stood a stone maybe a head taller than a man, dark grey and intense in ways that Adebar had no words for.

He approached cautiously, weapon drawn, eyeing the surrounding underbrush. The ground underfoot was soggy and clung to his boots, as if the land itself wished to hold him tight.

Holzer too drew out of the bushes, hatchet in hand, warily approaching the standing stone.

Upon closer inspection the stone was daubed in some form of red dye, too bright to be blood. The red formed crude symbols, symbols Adebar struggled to read, despite their simplicity.

“Holzer,” he beckoned with an outstretched hand, “the mask.”

He had taken the guise with him, in an attempt to find the assailant that had lost it.

The thing was simple, cut from cheap leather. What alarmed Adebar was a sigil he had noticed on the inside. He had had time over the last two days, but it made no sense to him, and hadn’t made sense to anyone he had asked either.

The symbol consisted of a triangle, pointing downward. The two upper points went on to form forked horns or antlers. It was crude and hurt the eye, yet Adebar had often found himself thinking of the rune. His worry only grew when he raised the mask before the stone, finding the sigil's twin right there, on the stone, in a central, capital position between all others.

“Holzer, tell me, this symbol right there, does it bear any significance to your people?”

Holzer took a while, clearly uncomfortable, before daring to look at the stone.

“Looks like a ‘ead to me, Herr. With ‘orns.”

Adebar drew in air sharply, dissatisfied. “Yes. Taal is a horned god, is he not?”

“Never seen anythin’ like that, Herr. Not at ‘ome.” The hunter seemed slightly insulted at the mere accusation, shaking his head violently. “This is evil, clear as day.”

Von Bolstedt turned back to the stone, pained eyes wandering over the red signs, then back to the mask. Clearly some of the people of Gostahof didn’t think so, if the mask was any indication.

His musings were disturbed by a sudden, wailing howl. Another one, and another one followed, something was breaking through the bushes to their left, dark shapes between snow, brush and tree.

Holzer took off running, dragging Adebar along before the nobleman had even brought two and two together. Then the air was alive with the predatory whiz of arrows and the gurgling bray of the beasts of chaos.