Salvation Earth
3 Northern Raid

The first shimmering of light was creeping over the ridge; the warriors were relaxed but ready in a tight gully. There was still a shadow over the town. Arran tapped Razzan. They could just make out men gathering in the town centre.

“Looks like a patrol or bigger. We had better wait until they are well clear of the town. It looks like Elven’s right, this could be good fortune for us,” whispered Arran. “Let’s get back and warn the others. It looks like the whole garrison is leaving.”

“That is the only road in and out. The town is in a hollow and surrounded on three sides by cliffs,” said Elven, pointing. “Like I said they go out on manoeuvres once a week. They will be gone all day.”

Arran made his way back to the solders, which were under cover of a shallow cliff. He noted that they were very much on edge and did not look very rested. “Bunch of rabble,” he muttered. “I hope we don’t have to depend on them too much.” There were two more columns further back with the barrows between them. Arran told Captain Hendra of the delay and that when ordered, to lead his men to the top of the ridge, but out of sight and watch the town. One third of the captain’s men were to go in with the warriors. The barrows would follow. Hendra was not to enter town with his main force, unless he saw the flag lowered. That would be the signal for attack, if it were needed, but he was to hold fast otherwise.

The tension could be felt hanging in the air. Arran made his way back to his men. The dawn raid postponed, the warriors settled down to wait, taking advantage of the rest. It was not long before they made their way up and along the ridge, just in time to see the troop march out of town.

“You were right, Arran,” remarked Razzan. “Looks like the whole garrison, this will be easy.”

“Too easy. I wonder where they are going.” The two men looked down, the sun now licking the rooftops; high cliffs on three sides surrounded the town still in shadow with this one narrow pass out of it. “If we get it wrong, we are in a hell of a trap.”

“They aren’t coming back for some time I’ll wager, they are off somewhere, leaving the spoils to us,” said Razzan

“Elven, you stay with Captain Hendra. Keep a sharp lookout for their return, and give me plenty of warning.”

As soon as the enemy were well out of sight, the warriors swept down into the town, with the aim of spreading out through the streets and holding every main junction, preventing any remaining garrison from reforming. The bulk of the people left there were still in bed. Arran, Razzan and Jarrad made for the main square. They saw the butcher’s shop with human limbs hanging in the window. This disturbed even the warriors. It would undoubtedly scare the soldiers. The resistance did not show until the soldiers disturbed everyone with their noisy charge. The warriors were in position to deal with it. The soldiers went on to break open the grain stores and loot everything they could carry until they saw the butchers. The first of the barrows rattled over the ridge and the main force concealed itself on the top.

The town was now well secure, and Arran could set about organising the raid. He set two soldiers at the flag mast. The main force might not be needed and would remain under cover unless the flag was lowered, thus the town would look normal should the barbarians return. Then they could be fought on both sides.

Satisfied that everything was under control, Arran began to take notice of the huge temple in the main square. How clean and well repaired it was, unlike the rest of the town, which did not amount to much more than heaps of rock and stone strewn with rotting garbage. He had never seen or smelt such a foul place, and yet right in the centre was this clean and tidy temple of obvious importance. Its style was different to the rest of the town. It had tall, slender spires that gave it a kind of grace unlike its surroundings. He and Razzan walked towards it. They heard swordplay from an outhouse of the temple. Two soldiers fell out of the door with their guts hanging out, doubled up and fell to the ground still. They were followed by three large figures in black hooded cloaks brandishing broadswords, hewing down six more soldiers before the rest fell back as they, without a break in their stride, marched over to the centre of the square without fear, as if nothing on earth could touch them. They were large men who moved with the grace and speed of ones trained in the arts. They were very large, bigger than Arran, but not mutants, and they had very refined features the likes of which Arran had not seen before.

“Temporal priests I should say,” Arran whispered to Razzan. “Let’s see what they are made of.” Arran walked toward the priests, drew his blade and gave the bow of respect. He had not even straitened when one of the priests leaped forward swinging a blow at Arran’s chest. Arran arched his body back as the blade swept under his chin. His opponent, expecting to strike his quarry, was carried forward by his own momentum, a red blade thrusting out of his back. Arran sidestepped and pulled his blade out before the body hit the ground. The other two looked at each other and both leaped towards Arran, who again sidestepped left, putting one opponent in front of the other. Deflecting a thrusting blade with his own, again leading his rival off balance, Arran drew back his blade slashing the man’s chest. He jumped back again and jabbed the now shaken man under the ribs. The second combatant, no longer a threat, ducked behind the first to avoid Razzan’s thrust and leaving himself no room to manoeuvre. Arran went left again under the wounded man’s poor guard and ran through the surprised second man, while Razzan hacked the first man’s head off. There was a murmur echo round the square from the soldiers now crowding into it, at once stunned by their leader’s ability, but in wonder of their enemy.

“If they are all like that, we have not a chance,” one was heard to cry.

Razzan turned to him and said, “Fool, they were of their elite, the force that marched out of here were rabble. You see how easily we dealt with their elite. Get back to your work or I’ll send you into the next world now.” The man scurried off like a rat. Arran and Razzan looked at each other. They were both visibly shaken. They had never encountered any one as good as themselves before. “I wonder how many more they are?” whispered Razzan.

“We had better deal with the ones here before the garrison gets back and hope this is the extent of their number. Call Jarrad, Argot and the others, time we explored the temple.”

The temple entrance was unobstructed apart from a large slab of polished rock standing nineteen hands in front of it. The men walked over and stood either side of it. The huge black slab did not hinder their way in, but it cut off the light to the interior. Arran smelt the odour smell of extinguished candles. Inside was total darkness. “The priests would be used to the dark. If we go in now, they will cut us down.”

“I’ll get some torches, a brand each,” said Jarrad, already dashing off.

Arran and Razzan both closed their eyes, slowed their heartbeat and listened for movement inside. Arran flipped a pebble in on the path he intended to take. From its echo, he reasoned there was no obstacle in his way. Argot kept his eyes fixed on the entrance ready for any sign of movement. Jarrad was soon back, gave one brand to Razzan, and said “Ready”.

Arran said, “Go.”

Jarrad sprinted across the doorway throwing the torches high into the temple as he did, followed immediately by Arran who took two steps in and dived headlong to the left, still with eyes shut. He rolled over twice, slid into a pillar, stood up and opened his eyes. Someone had already extinguished the brands. Arran could see quite well in the low light and make out rows of pillars and pews. But he could detect no sound or movement. Stealthily, he made his way along behind the pillars until he was near the altar, blade in hand. Whoever was in here would have recovered their night vision by now after the brands had temporarily blinded them. They may not have seen him make his way here. He finished counting to fifty and looked away from the door. Suddenly, the darkness was shattered by blazing light as Razzan, Jarrad, Argot and Gem entered blade in one hand, blazing torch held high in the other. Keeping his eyes low and away from the light, Arran looked around and saw three black figures standing in front of the altar. Sensing movement from behind, he turned to see three more by a pillar he had passed a little way back. The figures were about to jump out on the others as they passed. When they drew level, Arran ran at the priests’ rear screaming, forcing them to jump forward into the warriors’ reach whilst trying to turn to fend off what was behind them. They neither had the room or position to fight as they wished.

Arran leaped over the last pew cleaving one priest as he landed. The figure sank to its knees making bubbling noises. The other two, trapped between fearsome opponents, fared no better. More light was being brought in now by the braver of the soldiers. Arran looked around. Everything was built from gleaming bright marble, looking at once brand new and very skilfully made, but the style looked somehow thousands of years old. He did not like this place. His attention returned to the priests at the altar. they had spread out, being used to single combat and did not wish to be caught in such a display of teamwork as they had just witnessed. This mattered not to Arran; they would stay in-group and tackle the priests one at a time. That would make their task easier.

As they advanced down the aisle, the priests, realising, reformed but remained too close to the altar, restricting their room for manoeuvre. The six met with a mighty clash of steel. Arran moved round to the left to turn the first priest away from Razzan, who could distract him with the odd blow between his own opponents, giving Arran an opening to finish him. But Razzan had met his match. He deflected a blow to his head and tried to slip in a thrust at the first priest when his opponent, making a lightning recovery, swung his blade round and took off Razzan’s hand. Arran took advantage of his man’s distraction and ran him through, but could do no more than watch Razzan, now defenceless, step back only to have the priest jump forward with remarkable speed and push his blade into Razzan’s stomach. Arran was there in an instance and hacked off the priest’s head before he could pull his blade out. He fell on Razzan, twisting the blade and pushing it in further as they fell to the floor amidst Razzan’s cries of agony. Arran turned on the third priest in a fury and hacked at him relentlessly, until the man went down. It was the first time Arran had lost his temper in a fight.

“I must control myself or I will be defeated,” he thought. Arran turned to see Jarrad cradling Razzan’s limp form. Jarrad looked up and shook his head. Arran felt his bitterness increase again.

“Get him out of here.” The men carried Razzan out into the square.

“I want his body taken home and buried.”

“Arran, that’s not custom. It’s a waste of time and resources,” said Argot.

“I know. I’m sorry. Let this town be his funeral pyre then. Come, let us explore the temple.”

They walked back and into the temple.

“They can never beat us, they are just barbarians. The high priests number few, the rest are untrained. We will train the baron’s men into a real army.”

“The smoke from the funeral pyre will be seen for miles,” said Jarrad, “and raise the alarm.”

“I don’t care, he was my best friend. I hate these people, let them come.”

“Since when do we allow the dead to put the living at risk?” put in Argot. “We have never seen you controlled by anger before. We are taught that it is a weakness. If you want war with these people, then you shall get your wish, for they will come I feel sure. But let this be delayed and we will be ready.

“You’re right, I must not allow my emotions to control my life. There is only one way, and I must follow it. The science of logic will reveal all.”

Arran ordered some soldiers to organise a burial detail.

“My lord,” said a rough looking captain with blood on his tunic. “All dwellings searched, and all resisting barbarians slain. The grain stores have been opened. They have more grain here than our combined output for two seasons, my lord.”

“Phew,” said Jarred, “they have no food shortage at all.”

“This must be one of their main stores. Every village can’t have this much,” said Arran. “Why are they still collecting it? They can’t use it all.”

“They also eat meat. Human meat, which probably accounts for most of the people who disappear near the Dead Lakes, not taken by monsters after all. So, if it is their main food store, how come we have taken it so easily?” asked Jarrad.

“We have taken nothing yet. This valley has only one way out. The same way the garrison will return. I now feel that it was not a raiding party that we saw leave, but just an exercise. They will return soon, for they cannot leave this place unguarded for long.”

Some of the nearest soldiers suddenly appeared very nervous, looking all around them as if expecting sweeping hordes of cannibals to come screaming round the nearest corner.

“Our barrows are in position and I have men rounding up every available barrow here. But I fear we will not carry away all, my lord.”

“Good man. What is your name?”

“Captain Hodge of the baron’s household guard, sir.”

“Time is all important now. We have more than we came for Leave some behind, it matters not. Make haste, captain.”

Arran marched into the temple and down to the alter. It was a huge slab, towering over him; it had manacles in each corner, so that a man could be spread-eagled across its face. On its top, candle holders, which Jarrad was lighting. In the centre of the altar, on a rack, lay the sacrificial blade and scabbard. Arran picked up the blade and drew it. The balance was fantastic, a long thin blade with a slight curve and cut off end. It was far lighter than a broadsword with a double grip, but not as curved as a sabre. He whirled it over his head. Far more manoeuvrable than a broadsword, but strong enough to stand up to one, unlike the rapier, which he had practised with all his life for speed. It was a two-handed blade, itself unusual, for that would may mean fighting without a shield, thought to be risky with a light blade. Although shields were rarely used or carried, it still dictated design. He thought it the ultimate, a blade he had dreamt of but never thought possible. He held it in both hands, by pushing his hands in opposite directions; the blade arced across in front of him at a speed unimaginable. Ten times that of just swinging an ordinary blade. He began to see the potential. Recovering from his astonishment, he examined the craftsmanship to discover that this too was far superior to any he had ever seen. Even more amazing was the style. Only Zeb might have ideas on its origin. Arran could not even guess.

“A present from the Gods,” he mused, “but certainly a blade befitting the leader of Greyhaven. I shall wear it high, so all can see.” He fastened the scabbard around his shoulders, so the hilt could be grasped from above his right shoulder. By pulling forward on the grip, the scabbard swung away from his body to allow the sword to fly out forwards and down in an attacking sweep all in one motion. Arran marvelled at the speed of this. It was almost as if the blade was spat out by the scabbard. Arran walked back out into the daylight having no interest in further plunder, his emotions lifted by this magnificent prize. Even if the barbarians did use it to sacrifice, he would use it to avenge all those who had died by these people. Jarrad followed him out.

“A present from the high priest. Ha.”

“Inform the captains that I don’t want the men collecting too much loot. The only thing of value here is the grain for which we came. These looters must get on with helping to load it. I want to be away in half of our planned time.”

The day was bright and the men’s eyes took a moment to adjust to its light. Jarrad ran off to inform the captains. Arran looked up at a cloudless sky. The sun was quite high but he thought he saw a mist low across the square. “On a day like this,” he wondered, it was too quiet, “there should be more noise.” It was like his ears were muffled, or full of water. A barrow stood alone and lost. “Why is it not in use?” But instead of feeling angry at things not going to plan, he felt quite indifferent, and did not really care one way or another. “I suppose I must shift that barrow to the grain store myself.” He began to walk towards it, but found his legs felt heavy and hard to move. The barrow seemed to get no closer. But he still did not care. Half way along the square, he noticed something heaped on the floor in front of the barrow. Now with mild curiosity, he wondered why there was no one about, why his legs felt like lead, and were getting heavier and heavier. It was becoming impossible to walk. He shuffled to a halt, swaying slightly. He threw off his new blade.

“Perhaps it has bewitched me. It is certainly getting heavier, but so is my old blade,” Arran thought. So, he discarded it, and his pouch. “I can’t lug that lot around anymore,” he thought casually. The ground around him seemed to swell gently, slowly rise and fall like a sea. Time itself stood still.

“Mad, I must be going mad. Don’t worry, this is not really happening, I am just going mad,” Arran said to himself. He began to laugh, and it seemed funnier and funnier. “Why am I all alone? He had managed a few more steps. “By the Gods, I am not alone,” recognising the heaps by the barrow as two soldiers. Panic now rose in him. “Something is taking us all out, silently without us knowing. It must be some wizardry.” Looking all around, he was positioned by the main road from the square leading out of town. He could see a large group waiting up the hill just outside town, like some creature of prey, waiting for the kill. His thoughts were jumbled and making little sense. When he realised that it was the enemy garrison returned, his panic increased, making his thoughts even more chaotic. “They just stand there waiting, but why? Are they waiting for the last of us to drop? No, they would receive no resistance now. Perhaps they would also be affected. Yes, we have time, one chance, they are standing right under our reserve force. If they charged down, they might defeat the barbarians, even outnumbered. They could drive the garrison this way, and if I could revive some of my men, we could fight them on both sides. I must give the signal to lower the flag.” He turned to the square. There were two soldiers on the floor and one warrior leaning against the flagpole. “I must assume that all the soldiers are out cold, and some warriors are left on their feet.” He found his arms heavy, but managed to signal to the warrior, who just gave a friendly wave back, unbalanced and fell on his face. “Our only hope gone.” His panic came back in waves, to be overtaken by fear and sheer terror. This was his first experience of such emotions. “How can people allow this to take hold? They cannot function like this. It must be part of what is affecting me.”

A brilliant flash of light made him turn towards the cliff at the back of town. He thought he saw a figure in blue running along the top of the cliff and was blown right off his feet. His ears screamed and popped. Arran lay there, confused, trying to make sense of his increasingly insane world. He sat up, the mist was gone and so was his panic. He managed to climb to his feet, although he still felt heavy. Looking up the road again, the enemy was still there, but no longer in ranks. They were in a confused muddle. “Frightened by the bang, I suppose. The signal, just a chance.” The flag was still flying, a bit torn, but still there. The warrior now sitting at the foot of the pole, looked mystified. “The mist, it must have been the mist. The blast has blown it out of town, straight into the enemy. Would it be strong enough to affect them? A little maybe, it’s all I can hope for now.” Arran staggered across the square, tore down the flag and pulled Jon to his feet. “March” said Arran, as he began to drag Jon round the square. Jon soon caught on and managed a fair pace on his own. Half way round, Arran saw Jarrad and two others. He got them to their feet and sent them after Jon. Soon most of the warriors and even a few soldiers were jogging round the square. Arrans head clearing rapidly, he thought, “We will soon be in shape to meet them, I doubt if there are any of those priests with them”

Arran stopped to pick up his discarded things and looked up the main street. There was a ferocious battle raging at the edge of town. The enemy, surprised and disorganised, were backing down the street. “The soldiers soon acted on our signal, and they fare well. They have the surprise on their side. But I bet they don’t know that there isn’t anyone here fit enough to help them. We must engage the enemy from its rear before they regroup and the soldiers begin to lose confidence and crumble. Our only chance is to take the enemy from both sides. Three more times round the square should do me.”

Now there were ten men going around the square. The sound of battle was echoing down the main street. More and more soldiers were getting to their feet, becoming aware of their predicament. But the retreat had stopped. The enemy had reorganised and the soldiers wavered, wondering where their comrades were. Arran stopped at the central street. The others joined him. The soldiers were still not in a fit state, some still getting to their feet.

“The tide is turning up there. We must charge now, making as much noise as we can to rekindle their fear and encourage the soldiers.” Arran turned and shouted to the soldiers, “Follow us as soon as you can.” With that he charged up the central street screaming, the others bolted after him. Arran unsheathed his new blade as he ran. It seemed to glow faintly, and he was aware of a slight tingle running up his arm. He was too focused on what was to come to notice it, and the feeling passed quickly.

The rear of the barbarians turned, only to step back into their companions, creating confusion and reducing room for manoeuvre. Arran tore straight in cleaving the first startled opponent in two, so fast that the barbarian did not even have a chance to let out a breath. For a moment, it seemed as if the blade refused to be pulled out of the corpse and Arran felt a tingle run up his arm. His next opponent, Arran ran straight through the middle. This time his victim let out a blood chilling scream, the likes of which Arran had never heard before. It was so loud that the fighting around him almost came to a standstill.

The rest of the warriors had lined up abreast double spaced, marching into the affray and sweeping their blades from side to side, taking two men a piece. Their opponents’ attention, moved from the warriors now striking them, and began to focus on Arran whose next two victims also let out similar unearthly screams. The barbarians began to turn from Arran and try to fight their way through their own men, even killing those in the way. The corpses were piling up around Arran, and the more that he killed, the more frantic his opponents became. The screams were filling their ears. Some were pointing and shouting something that Arran could not make out. But his job was getting easier. A circle was opening in front of him. He was moving rapidly into the midst of the enemy. Soon the pressure on the soldiers was too great and their line began to break. The rest of the warriors, however, found their task getting easier and were killing at a faster rate with Arran’s distraction. For a moment, Arran thought his new blade felt lighter and moved faster than ever. Almost, as if it was taking over, eager to kill. Unable to escape, the nearest of the enemy to him began to throw themselves onto their own blades as if in attempt to avoid being killed by Arran, who slowed up in bewilderment. He only needed to walk up to one and show his blade and they killed themselves.

In the turmoil, the warriors were making short work of their opponents whose numbers were dwindling fast. Even the soldiers, whose line had been broken, were taking their toll. Those that broke through did not even stop to fight, but ran for their lives. It was not that long before they had finished off all between them. The soldiers began chasing the escaped barbarians out of town. They had tasted their first victory in real battle and there was no stopping them now. Besides, the barbarians’ spirit had been broken and the soldiers were more than able to deal with them now. Arran gave Captain Hendra the signal to give chase. Hendra broke into a run and waved the remaining soldiers onward. Arran looked around. He felt strange, energy surged through him, like adrenalin. He was aware of Nadine standing alone. Left, by the departing soldiers. The rest of the warriors gathered around him. It all seemed unreal.

“Well, that was a lucky break,” said Jarrad. “Just as I thought they were recovering from our attack. Still, a little odd, though.”

“There was no luck involved,” said Nadine. “Those men had heard that scream before.”

“In the temple, perhaps.”

“I don’t follow you,” Nadine replied.

“Arran’s blade. It came from the temple, a sacrificial blade,” said Jarrad.

“The barbarians, I heard some cry ‘the executioner’ and ‘soulreaper’ as they ran past me. Arran, there is great evil here. I am not sure how or why, but we must complete our task with utmost speed. There should be no further attacks and we can be away quickly.”

“Yes, makes sense to me,” said Vargen. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary. The soldiers will deal with those who escaped, I’m sure. We can be away before they can alert any nearby allies. We still have our original detail here in town,” he said, turning to look at the somewhat dazed soldiers approaching from the square.

“What is the matter with you all?” Arran said, aggressively. “We have won the day. The town is ours.”

“There is great danger here,” said Nadine. “I felt it in them. Not just one, all of them. A terrible fear that I could barely withstand.”

Vargen turned to the solders and said, “Gather up every barrow and load up all the grain you can, carry on as planned, at top speed.”

Glad to have missed the fight, they turned and trotted back towards the town centre.

“We have lost none of our own in that battle, but the soldiers took a few casualties when the barbarians panicked. I think we should look upon it as good fortune. I do not think we could have expected such a good outcome under any other circumstances,” said Jarrad. “Shall I assign a burial detail?”

“Not until the grain is on its way,” replied Arran. “The burial detail can stay, with us, the rearguard.”

It took four long hours before the last barrow disappeared over the ridge. Everyone had helped with the gruesome labour of loading, and all were pleased with the result.

“Seems strange they should have hoarded so much grain,” said Nadine. “Far more than they need. Do you think it was an offering for their gods?”

“Maybe. The stores were part of the temple,” replied Arran, suddenly feeling very weak and drained.

The men were carrying their dead out of town to be buried as far off as possible, when Captain Hendra re-appeared with his troop.

“Sire, we caught many barbarians, but I believe that some must have got away.”

“You and your men did a commendable job, captain. I shall be notifying the baron of this. You could not be expected to catch them all, do not concern yourself.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“Get your men back on the trail for home. The grain is not far ahead. Catch up with it and guard it. We will be with you as soon as we can.”

“Yes, sire,” said the captain as he waved his men on.

Climbing over the ridge, Nadine pointed. “Look, it’s Elven. I had forgotten all about him. He must have stayed behind.”

Elven was sitting back from the ridge in some bushes. Arran walked up to him and said, “Elven, are you well?”

Looking a little dazed again, he replied, “I think so, but I don’t know what I am doing here. I think I am waiting, but I know not for what. I can’t remember anything since Cam.”

“You do not remember leaving camp this morning?”

“What camp? Where are we anyway?”

“I told you he was not right.” Said Nadine.

“It’s all right, Elven. It doesn’t matter. Go catch up the soldiers and guard the barrows for me, will you?”

“Yes, sir.” Said Elven, wobbling to his feet and making off.

“He was not in control of himself this morning, Arran. He was meant to lead us into a trap.”

“I am beginning to agree with you, Nad. Fortunately, it didn’t work. But is he free of it now? That’s my main concern.”

“I will consider his mind tonight. I may be able to tell.”

It was not long before the dead were buried, and the grave was filled in. Arran ordered Vargen and Jordan to scout the rear while he and the remaining soldiers set off to catch up with the barrows.

As the warriors were entering the hills, Arran regrouped his men at the rear of the train. “This is where we must expect any danger. At this speed, we would be caught up with in no time. If, that is, there is anyone left around. And if they can get organised in time.”

“I doubt if it were possible,” said Jarrad.

“As soon as we are through these hills, we will make better time. We may make it by dusk, though.”

“Not at this speed,” said Jarrad

“On the other side of these hills, the ground is quite stony. The heavy barrows won’t make such deep tracks. Detail some soldiers to cover the tracks tomorrow. The barrows can fork west. We will lay a false trail due east. I am not taking any chances. If we are caught I don’t want to have to guard barrows. We will want room to manoeuvre. We will take half the soldiers with us,” said Arran

“That will leave the barrows unprotected.”

“I know, but something Nadine pointed out is worrying me. They knew we were there. They expected to beat us easily. OK, they did not know we are stronger than the average mere soldier. But that was a trap.”

“I know that. But we won, didn’t we?”

“Well, I don’t believe their low numbers. Did you see any of those cat faces? Or other masks?”

“No, but.”

“No buts. Their strength was not there. There must be another town or military camp nearby. I think we will have all hell on our trail.”

“Then you are right to take action. You may well save the day yet again, Arran?”

“We will decide on the morrow. They cannot catch us before then.”

At first light, Arran called round his lieutenants to explain the plan. On leaving the hills, they would split up. Captain Hendra would oversee the barrow company.

“I understand what has to be done sire,” said Captain Hendra. “We should be clear within two hours, then we part company.”

“Good man, captain.”

“Nadine, you and Elven are to go with the barrows.”

“I don’t want us to be split up again.”

“Do it. Things could get bad,” ordered Arran

It was two and a half hours before the party lumbered out of the hills, bade their farewells and prepared to part. Suddenly, Vargen came running towards them.

“Arran, Arran,” he cried, panting. “A force is following. They must be just about to enter the hills. Jordan is keeping an eye on them.”

“How many?”

“Larger than in town. And well-armed. Some masks, as well.”

“Get those barrows out of here. And do a good job covering your trail. Your lives depend on it. Cut some branches, we must scratch lines in the ground to look like barrow wheels. Come on.”

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