When the legend becomes fact, the truth will get you killed!
Saefelsin's seen some grisly murders in his days, but the death of the historian Lokomolos is beyond his experience. What had the scholar uncovered to draw down such violent wrath? More
The severed head had fallen into the narrow gap between the stairs and wall. I had to lie on the icy stone landing and stretch my arm almost out of joint to reach it, just managing to catch a lock of frozen hair between my fingers and lift it out.
Whoever'd done the chopping had done a foul job--judging by the jagged flaps of skin hanging from the neck, he'd taken over a dozen whacks. I turned the head over in my hands and noted extensive bruising around the eyes and on the cheeks.
I set the head on a step and turned to survey the rest of the courtyard. Abattoir more like. Professor Lokomolos's torso lay atop a snowdrift, his entrails strewn across the yard like party streamers. One of his legs was draped over a tree branch and the other stood frozen in the middle of the yard as though it'd decided to take a walk without the rest of the body.