Chapter 14

Thorsten awoke bound to the saddle of a moving horse. His clothes had changed, that much he knew immediately. He wore some sort of half helm with chain mail over his neck and a leather strap under his chin, a metal shirt made of scales over some sort of gambeson and some plain, grey linen britches. Around his helm, someone had draped a wet piece of wolf's fur and that told him everything he needed to know, including who the man on the horse infront of him was, leading Thorsten's horse by the bridle.

How Léon had managed, Thorsten did not know, but it could not have been easy.

His first instinct was to look for a weapon but that did not serve with his head aching and spinning, even if he had found one in his reach.

"Lay calm, my friend." Léon told him after turning around and one of the raiders rode by and even padded him on the back.

They were amongst their company but it did not look as though they suspected a thing. Thorsten could not spy any of his Thorwlash around. There were many questions in his mind that needed answering but they only made his head hurt even more. Someone handed him a skin and he drank a sip of water that came spilling back up through his mouth as soon as he had swallowed.

The raiders were in a gloomy mood and they rode mostly in silence.

"Fucking giants." He heard a young man mutter at some point and others muttered their agreement.

There were no giants around now and Thorsten was glad for that. In retrospect, the battle had been a terrible mistake. His Thorwalsh would have made short work of the raiders alone, inspite of their horses and greater numbers. But they had never really stood a chance against the giants, not even with Léons artillery and crossbowmen.

"How is it going to be, fighting along side them, when they kill as many of us as they do the enemy?" The same man asked aloud.

"They just love their killing." Came the answer from behind, dark and gloomy, with a Bornlandish accent.

"We're back to foraging now, that's what we're good at. And we must not deal with no giants neither." A mounted archer in front tried to cheer him up.

Léon kept his mouth shut and Thorsten judged that that was best.

They rejoined with a small camp following in the woods, made up mostly of packhorses and women, and built a camp as soon as evening fell. Thorsten saw a few raiders trade coin, food or drink with the women in exchange for their favors. Others tried to force themselves upon them nonchantically, but that was put a quick end to by the copper-skinned leader of the bunch.

Léon helped him off his horse and eased him down. The Horasian had cut the fancy quillings of his shirt and dirtied it to make it look like a common one. Over that he had draped a thin, ruined gambeson that looked like it could not be closed anymore but had the picture of a wolf's head painted crudely on the back. The golden buckle on his boots was gone, as well as the long sleeves of his leather gloves.

"Shhhh." He told Thorsten when the Thorwalsh wanted to speak.

He leaned in close to Thorsten's ear and whispered: "There are no survivors but us. You need to get strong and then we will make our escape."

Thorsten exhaled furiously through his nostrills. He could be feasting in Swafnir's halls along side his kinsmen right now, but the Horasian had decided otherwise.

Léon seemed to know his grief.

"I know you would rather I had not done what I did." He whispered understandingly. "But see it this way. I have given you an opportunity to avenge your brothers! Isn't that a much better story to tell?"

There was truth to that and Thorsten relaxed a little. He was about to reply something when they were unbiddenly interrupted.

"What's he got?"

The voice was ruff and comming from behind Léon, promting the Horasian to turn around.

"Headwound." He said flatly, in an entirely different voice.

"'bet it was one of them giants hit'n him." The raider replied angrily. "They didn't care none where those huge sticks of them landed. I don't know you, do I?"

"Large company." Léon shrugged indifferently but Thorsten saw his hand edging towards his floret.

"Aye!" The man laughed suddenly. "But not so large anymore, eh? Damned giants, as if them boatfuckers wasn't worse enough. We'd never attacked them hadn't it been for Varg that huge, impalin' bitch. Did you see what she did for them survivors?"

"Aye." Léon nodded grimly.

Thorsten lifted his head to look beside him and get a glimpse of the raider. The man was short but muscled, past fourty by the looks of him, with hardened features and scruffy, greying hair.

"Oh, hey there!" He greeted Thorsten upon looking at his face. "Took a blow, eh? Don't worry, we'll get you some porridge and you'll be fine."

"He's a big one, isn't he...can't tell I know this one either." He turned back to Léon. "Thought I knew all the Thorwalsh we had."

"He must have joined from Sly's band." Léon shrugged again. "Nasty fighter, I heard."

"With those arms, for sure!" The man bellowed and laughed. "Care for a sip of mead? I took it off them boatfuckers' ship before them giants plundered everything. Good stuff."

Léon took the skin he was offered and drank a swallow, not entirely able to hide his distaste. Horasians preferred their wines to be made of grapes, not honey. The intruder walked around him, sat down next to Thorsten and took the skin back, drinking deep before amiably pouring into Thorsten's mouth.

"Ahhh, there you go!" He laughed. "Feels much better, eh?"

The mead was Thorwalsh indeed and came most welcome, to him anyways.

"Ah, don't be greedy now." he laughed scoldingly when Thorsten grabbed the skin to drink more.

Mead would help dull his headache for sure.

"I see you got one of them huge swords." The raider mentioned to Léon and nodded over to his horse where one of the Andergasters was bound. "Scary things. Can't be used on horseback though. I'll trade you for an axe, what say you?"

Léon shook his head: "It's the only one left. Varg bent the others into knots. It's the swords they used to kill the giants with. It's worth three axes, I'd say. And it's his, not mine."

He nodded at Thorsten.

"Ha, this man with that sword would make quite a terrible thing." The raider chuckled. "Awful small use against peasants though, eh?! Unless he wants to kill three with each stroke!"

He laughed so hard that Thorsten's face was covered in his spittle afterwards. Léon faked his laughter believably enough but Thorsten only managed a forced, painful smile.

"He's not the sharpest sword in the armory, is he?" The raider commented when he saw.

"Ha, no he isn't." Léon smirked. "And I fear that blow to his head didn't help his wits none."

Sudden anger welled up in Thorstens chest as it always did when he was taunted but he was too weak to do anything.

"Is there any word on where we will ride tomorrow?" Léon asked, changing the subject.

"I wouldn't know." The raider gave an indifferent shrug. "Probably some village or refugee camp, gettin' food and slaves for those damned giants lot."

The Horasian only grunted at that.

After a short silence the raider offered to bring some food and left the two of them blissfully alone.

"We must play along, be two of them now." Léon whispered hastily in Thorsten's ear. "These are the Howling Wolves, their leader is a Tulamid called Diego. They've split their forces and the leader of the other band is called Sly. You do well to remember that name."

"I will." Thorsten grunted horsely. "Have it your way, craven."

"I came here to find my brother." Léon whispered back. "It won't serve to be killed by some sorry lot of scum because I made the mistake of running to the aid of some boat-dwelling whale-worshipper."

"Go then." Thorsten spat arrogantly. "I'll be fine."

"We stand a better chance together." Léon argued quickly. "You will help me find my brother as you swore. After that, I will help you fight the giants. There's quite an adventure in this, I can smell it!"

Thorsten ignored the queer, encouraging smile Léon gave him but agreed in bitter silence. Even if he could fight, the raiders would make short work of him alone. They deserved to die for allying with giants but it was the giants that Thorsten had come to Andergast to kill and it had been the giants who killed most of his force too. He saw then that Léon had planned it this way all along. That's why he had saved the great-sword for Thorsten, why he had beaten him unconcious and saved him. If not anything, the Horasian was a very capable man, that much he had to admit.

"We will go and try to find sellswords and suitable weapons." Léon said encouragingly after that. "Together we will finish the job you came here to do. But for that we must live."

"Good." Thorsten whispered after chewing on it for a moment. "Help me remove my armor so that I can sleep. How did you manage to get me into this thing in the first place?"

"It wasn't easy." Léon smirked bitterly. "I took the scale shirt and helmet from one of your fallen friends. You Thorwalsh don't seem to be fond of armor, but he certainly was. Not that it helped him much..."

"Armor drags you down when you fall into the water." Thorsten explained. "But some of us prefer the protection in battle anyhow."

"Just so." Léon concurred. "Getting your clothes off was easy enough and then I put everything on you with a piece of wolf's fur floating in the river. No one seemed to have noticed in the heat of battle, but I ran out of time to change much of my own garb as you can see."

He flicked his ruined shirt with a finger and smiled.

Their new friend arrived back with the skin of mead and three bowls of porridge. He and Léon helped Thorsten sit up properly to eat and Thorsten was glad that he was able to keep it down. It was made of carrots and turnips and quite bitter tasting but came with a piece of hard saussage to keep them happy.

"Can't eat too good because we have to give most to the giants. Can't eat too bad or else brothers will run away." The raider ponderously phrased the dilemma.

"Lucky there's anything at all. Even meat." Léon commented in his commoner's voice.

"Aye." The raider grinned. "It's not too bad but we had better before the giants came along, eh? I've been with Diego since autumn past year. We can plunder much more now but we have to give it up all the same. Gareth's a bloody mess. Patrols everywhere! There's only single sightings of giants there though, not like here."

"So I heard." Léon lied.

"We thought we'd be knights and lords after the giants conquered Andergast." The man continued. "Now it looks like Varg isn't going to honor our agreement after all. Most of the guys I knew are dead now. Bloody giants, eh?"

"Well, you seem to have no trouble making new friends." Léon raised the skin to a toast before drinking.

"That's so." The man half-smiled. "Name is Arn. What's yours?"

Panic spread in Thorstens chest as he sensed the need to come up with a lie. He had never been good at that, ever.

"I am Léon. The big one's name is Thorsten." Léon said amiably and he realized that it was all the same to this lot.

But Arn's next question made him tense all over again.

"When did you join?"

His brain went to work immediately, looking for an answer. It was dangerous. If the conversation went into too much detail their cover would be blown just like that.

"Not so long ago." Léon replied vaguely. "One day I was riding messages, next day...well..."

He gestured first to himself and then around. The ease with which the Horasian did it was startling

"And you?" Arn asked directed at him.

Thorsten couldn't come up with a lie quick enough and so Léon threw himself into the breach for him.

"Oh, he doesn't like to talk." He began mysteriously. "Some say he was a pirate before he came to us, but that's uncertain. He's not much of a talker you see, he's...rather timmid."

"Timmid Thorsten!" Arn laughed again. "Yes, I like that, haha!"

He roared loudly and slapped his belly.

"Hahaha! Timmid Thorsten! Hehehe! And Lying Léon!"

Within a heartbeat he had grabbed the Horasian by the neck and pulled him down, pressing a dagger to his throat. At the same time, Thorsten found himself surrounded by other outlaws, pointing spears at him.

"Don't get up." One of them told him with a sly smile, pushing him back down with the point of his spear.

"You fuckers have quite some guts, eh?!" Arn, if that was his real name, shouted angrily. "Wear a piece of wolf and think good ol' Arn wouldn't notice, did you?! I know every face in this bloody company! Diego told me to set a trap for you, haha, and the spider's fangs snapped shut!"

He took florret and dagger from Léon and threw them aside before he leaned back, releasing the Horasian but still keeping the dagger pointed at his throat.

"Well done, Arn." A voice behind the row of men said.

They made way and through came the copper-skinned man. His face was hard to make out in the fading light around but the broad, squat nose was clearly outlined against the moonlight. He wore black chain mail under a short leather vest with padded shoulders, red and black motley gambeson britches and simple brown boots which matched his fingerless gloves. Around his shoulders he had a cape of wolf's fur and his long, black hair was bound to a loosening ponytail behind his head.

Everyone took a respectful step back.

"Quite the cunning feat." The man remarked at his two captives. "Impressive. It would have worked nicely if it weren't for faithful old Arn here. Let me guess, you would have made off with two of my horses as soon as you found your strength back."

That did not need any reply.

"It was not my wish to attack you." The dark, tiny eyes fell on Thorsten. "The giants forced my hand. You bloodied us well, I think your friends will have no trouble entering the halls of your forefathers."

Thorsten gave a reflexive, courteous nod at that and felt like a fool.

"You ought to be strangled for serving those beasts." He forced out after collecting himself, grinding his teeth in anger, half mad with himself.

The raider smiled sourly and looked deeply into Thorsten's eyes.

"I know." He said. "But in these times, good order must give way to survival. I am but a simple raider, trying to make ends meet."

"You wanted a kingdom for yourself." Thorsten scolded him. "And you wanted the giants to give it to you."

"Aye." There was that smile again. "And see how that is turning out. Who may say that there are no gods in face of such heavenly justice?"

"It is natural for the weak to seek alliance with the strong." Léon fell in before Thorsten could ramble about false gods.

"Yes, but who is weak and who is strong?" The man raised an eyebrow. "We made a gamble, in truth, and lost. Now it is time to cut our losses."

"And cut your ties with unfaithful partners?" Léon challenged him.

The man's mouth twitched amusedly for a split-second but he ignored the question.

"You were unlucky Arn keeps such a tight grip on the men. I fear I must take you captive now. I am Diego, leader to this sorry lot of free-riders." He said instead.

"I am..." Thorsten began but the raider cut him off dismissively.

"I do not care who you are. You are my prisoners. But you do not have to remain prisoners."

There was something queerly noble about how the man spoke, but that might have been his southern heritage.

"What do you mean by that?" Léon asked suspiciously.

"I have lost two thirds of my strength." Diego smiled sourly. "In these parts the best I can do with to fill up my ranks are broken men. Other than that, I have only peasants. Judging by what I saw at Andrafall, I could make good use of you two. And it shall be to your advantage. What say you?"

"You mean to grant us our lives if we join you?" Léon asked with a hint too much hope in it.

"This is folly!" Thorsten interjected venomously. "We are not your friends."

Lending sharpness to his voice nearly made his head split in half.

"Would you rather I took your heads?" The Tulamid man gave him a weighing, sad look.

"If you wish." Thorsten said defiantly, grinding his teeth in pain. "Best you take mine and sell him for ransom. He has the look of a high born fool about him."

He nodded over to Léon who's face slipped into stupid disbelief. Thorsten did not care. He was sick of treating with such evil men. There was a moment of pregnant silence before Diego's mouth twitched into another sour smile.

"Thorwalsh." He grinned. "Your people are an astonishing lot. I will not have your head. You can join us or be slaves to the giants. Your choice."

With another sour smile he took his leave but not before commanding the outlaws to bind Thorsten and Léon hand and feet and keeping them under guard.

"Did you happen to come across a Horasian by the name of Lionel Logue?" Léon asked shouting after him while the raiders already went to work.

"Not to my knowledge." Diego replied courteously after turning around. "But I regrett to say that I do not know the names of everyone we slew or took captive."

"If you had come across him, you would know." Léon replied bitterly and the conversation was over at last.

Thorsten wanted to fight but as soon as he started to struggle, the world shook again and his stomach turned upside down. With the men holding him down he would have drowned on it had they not turned him over in time.

They must have sent the mute and the halfwit to him, because those two queer men showed up a short while later. The mute was an old man with wrinkly face and a stork tatoo on his shoulder, marking him for a man of Peraine. He might have been a priest at some point, Thorsten guessed, because the man knew some art of healing. If in fact he had been, he would not be able to tell because someone had cut out his tongue.

In place of that, he had the halfwit. The simpleton with a cylindrical head and squat face was always smiling amiably, even though his pale, blue eyes looked into opposite directions. He spoke for the mute which became clear after the old man clacked angrily with his mouth and the lackwit told Thorsten to lay back.

After some looking into Thorsten's eyes, feeling his brow and examinitng the small cut on his head, there was some more seemingly senseless clacking.

"You will be fine in few days, Elgor says." The lackwittet boy lisped. "The more you avoid doing hard things, the quicker you will be good again. And you have to drink nettle tea, Elgor says."

Thorsten and Léon were bound back to back with tight hempen rope and the mute gently pushed them over so that they may sleep. The outlaws even gave them a blanket each to rest their heads on and a another one to drape over them so they would not be cold in the night. They were under constant watch however and thus could not begin to plan their escape.

Also, Thorsten grew unsure of the Horasian. He might have acted Léon's friend to the outlaws but that did not change the reality of their alienness. The hit to the head Thorsten could forgive, even though the plan had failed. But being a Horasian, a society that killed whales for ambra and train-oil, was a wholly different thing.

They broke camp at first light and Thorsten was already feeling a little better. He still got a little dizzy when he was on his feet but the headache did not have the resemblance of an axe burried in his skull anymore.

About six dozen fighters were left to Diego after the fighting at Andrafall and thus he proclaimed that they would make to support Sly's party which was raiding in the west with about one hundred men. They rode cross-country and game trails further and further through deep Andergastian forest. Sometimes, the trees, especially evergreens, would grow so close to each other that almost no sunlight came through. In Other places, for example where the huge stoneoaks grew, the forest was doused in a pleasant green light, that could have a magical appearance to it at times.

Thorsten was not a good rider by any accounts but the old plow-horse he sat was calm and well suited to follow the horse infront and the man atop it. On horseback, his feet were not bound but with his hands behind his back he could not reach for bridle even if he had thought that a good idea.

The outlaws, for some reason, grew increasingly restless with every step they took further west and Thorsten could clearly see fear in their eyes. He had some reasonable remembrance of the river Ingval which flowed west-wards through many tiny villages, first Andergast's, then Nostria's with the border town of Joborn in the middle. He knew of nothing that was immediately west of where they were that could scare anyone so.

The answer came soon however when Diego reined up to him and Léon to give instructions. Thorsten noticed that his demeanour was that of a seasoned, yet rather uninspiring commander, calm but quick and collected, devoid of any emotion other than a hint of unexplainable bitterness, as though he'd rather be somewhere else entirely. When he was talking Thorsten thought that one might mistake him for some nobleman, but his face spoke against that notion. His eyes were tiny and black, almost hidden under black bushy eyebrows, but his nose was flat and broad, yet long somehow and curved downwards, flattening his otherwise long face. His chin was dimpled and strong but his forehead weak and receding. The mustachio he wore was as bushy as his eyebrows and all but hid the thin, pale lips of his mouth.

"These are dangerous parts ahead." He told them sourly. "We must move swiftly and silently. There will be no shouting, no matter what. Keep in the shadows, and if we are discovered, hide. Avoid places where you can see the sky. When one of them passes over us, get off your horses and stay still."

Thorsten knew what he was talking about even though Léon might still not quite believe it. They rode through dark, dense patches of forest, preferring those areas where evergreens sucked in the light. Those were treacherous for the horses to traverse however, and the going was tough. There was not much talking if any, but many a frightened look or a pricked ear. The general tension was palpable.

They camped at even-fall without fires and more than a dozen lookouts on trees, nibbling on stale bread and hard sausage. Then, the lookouts started howling like wolves and that brought the scouts and outriders back to them a while after. That was how they called each other over distances. Howling. In the woods it echoed far and wide and anyone unsuspecting would take them for actual wolves. It also helped the fallen behind baggage-train to find the right path to the camp.

At last came a man into their camp that had not been with them before, which Thorsten could tell because he looked as though he had spent the past few weeks in the wild. His clothing was sturdy leather and linen but above that he had tied tussocks of grass and brush for concealment. He was well within Thorsten's earshot when the raiders came gathering around to hear him speak.

"Mhh, mead!" He began happily after someone had given him a wineskin.

After drinking almost the entire thing at once, he looked at the gathering cluster of people with a grin that was a tad too broad to pass off as fully sane.

"How are you, and where is Pip?" Diego asked him when he arrived.

"Pip got eaten by a bear but I'm fine." He said in a strange sing-song voice. "There's not much food anymore though. The hunters from the village have hunted the woods dry and those gargantuan footfalls that flatten trees like twigs don't help settle new wildlife none!"

He grinned again as though what he had said had been especially amusing.

"I'm eating bugs though." He continued. "There's a lot of dead wood where the trees are crushed and the beetles and worms like that very much. When it rains I get earthworms too but those are not so tasty. But what should I do when my traps remain empty? I'd like to take some provisions this time, eh, or maybe you could send someone else? Let me stay with the party for a time, yes?"

"What can you tell me of the village?" Diego interrupted his rambling with an icy look.

"I watch it every day." The man replied with widening eyes. "Hiding in the brushes!"

He laughed and pivoted back and forth on his arse: "Sometimes they walk almost right over me! And I can hear them talk and they have women too! Beautiful to look at. Some at least...the villagers, I mean. Not the huge ones. The huge ones are good looking too, but so huge! Hehehehehe!"

He descended into a fit of giggling and started pivoting even harder.

"Flowers!" Diego snapped and the man's eyes widened at hearing his name. "Enough with this. Tell me what I want to know!"

"Ah, yes. Apologies, mh." He swallowed. "There is a normal giantess in charge of the village now and more people have come. They've built new buildings but have trouble keeping everyone fed. Ohhh, but that's not the most important!"

He made a pregnant pause and everyone leaned in closer to hear his words.

"Two days ago, I think..." He scratched his head and made a face. "It might have been, ehm, three, ehh...in any case, they're gone! The two went away one evening and only the bigger one returned!"

His face said that that was something very important, but Thorsten could not tell whether it was to be trusted in this man.

"Gone?" Diego asked incredulously.

"Yes, mhmhmhmh!" Flowers almost sang. "Now she was all grumbly looking when she returned. Packed a giant bag and went off again, not returning! Oh! Hihihi!"

A swell of mumbling erupted from everyone around while he sniggered.

"And that normal giantess?" Diego asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Is still there." Flowers promised. "But she has softened up, hehe. She is no longer killing folk, far as I know. Not in the village, at least, she's not!"

"What are you thinking boss? Should we raid it? Maybe we could take one giantess..." Some other outlaw mumbled next to Diego.

The Tulamid pursed his lip before shaking his head: "Too much risk. And it doesn't sound like there is anything worth taking."

"There's women. Flowers said so. And we could take all those people as slaves for the giants." The outlaw offered.

"Other than the giantess I haven't seen any defences, no." Flowers added dutifully.

Diego chewed his lip while more voices started adding their opinions.

"There have to be hidden treasures!" A young man with shortbow in hand insisted vehemently. "Otherwise, why would the huge wenches protect it?"

"It's just a food storage for them." An old spearman held against. "Folk live a miserable life there, getting squashed like bugs or eaten by those cunts."

"But the girls are gone! And they do not have any fortifications we know of!"

"The villagers might still be too many for us to take on!"

"They're just peasants mostly, and unarmed!"

"How many are in the village right now?" Diego asked, commanding silence by raising his hand.

"Ahh." Flowers scratched himself under his hat. "Two, three hundred maybe more. I can't be certain. Some come, some go, more go though. Ha!"

Half of them would be women that, outside of Thorwal, were notoriously unable to defend themsevles. And there would be children too. Six dozen outlaws with horses might have been enough to raid the village but Diego decided to join up with Sly's party first.

Thorsten and Léon ate as good as the raiders and were given enough water too. The halfwit fed them and drank them like babes. Only with losing food and drink afterwards he would not help them and when it became impossible to hold in, Thorsten relieved himself into his britches and Léon let go soon after that. It was a demeaning experience to be sure.

"You fuckers smell like piss, haha!" A guardsman noted a while after, holding his hand infront of his nose. "Sure you don't want to join as yet?"

"Fuck off." Thorsten spat and gave the man an angry glare.

He had resolved that he would not be part of a band of giant serving slavers. Never.

"Well, if you want to end your life on one of Varg's stakes..." The man shrugged and moved away to piss against a tree.

The giantess had crushed some of the surviving Thorwalsh and torn others to pieces in her hands, but most she had impaled on stakes. When the outlaws had ridden off with the order to return to foraging, most of them had still been alive, screaming, crying, whimpering, until they could no more. Thorsten had overheard the story from the raiders but did not want to think about it too much.

"Must feel guilty." The raider called over, pissing. "All your friends fucked to death by giant wooden cocks and you alive and useless."

He was about Thorsten's age with a broken nose, pale eyes and more gaps in his mouth than teeth. He bit on his tongue and smiled viciously while he eyed Thorsten over his shoulder.

"Bet it'll be real nice with the giants. Pretty boy like you, maybe Varg will shove you up her cunny, eh? Hehehe!"

Thorsten felt anger boiling within himself and his bulging arms scraped painfully against the ropes.

"Cut these ropes and I'll knock a few more of those teeth out." He threatened.

The young man stopped pissing, turned around and came over, cock in hand, before releasing the rest of his golden stream onto Thorsten's head.

"Eh, do you like that, boatfucker?" He taunted.

Thorsten was helpless but almost mad with rage. The more he struggled however, the more he had to concede that it was useless.

"Derek!" An older raider shouted from somewhere. "Stop that! If Diego sees you!"

He came stomping over with heavy strides while Derek tugged his penis away.

"And what if they do join us, huh?" The older man went on. "What do you think he's going to do to you as soon as he has two free hands, huh?"

He took Derek by the ear and twisted, making him scream. Wet with urine and stinking like filth, sleep came much harder. The one that had chased off Derek had taken over the watch however, and he drank a little too heavily from his wine skin which had him snoring softly within an hour. The other guard, a restless man whom everyone called Weasel, had snuck off a while ago to tumble with a camp follower or something like that.

It wasn't long before Léon whispered: "Let's join them and see if we can't make our escape that way."

"No." Thorsten whispered back, stubbornly.

"Why not?"

"I will not help them enslave more innocent people."

"You seemed content with it until we were discovered." Léon argued and even with his voice hushed Thorsten could hear the annoyance in his tone.

Thorsten ground his teeth. His head had hurt and he had not been able to asses the situation but he knew he'd sound like a whiny girl if he said that.

"I don't want to become a serf for the ogres." Léon went on. "I have seen what they did to our surviving men. If you are unwilling to go, I will do it alone!"

Thorsten did not answer. He wasn't good at arguing with the Horasian, that much he had learned already.

"If the gods are good...I mean, if we are lucky, we can make off before there is any fighting." Léon continued in the hopes of swinging his mind.

"They have outriders, scouts and trackers. They would catch us within a day." Thorsten replied gloomily.

"You are right." Léon agreed meekly and Thorsten turned his head in surprise.

"But I am sick of being a captive already." He added and sounded so sad that Thorsten genuinely felt for him.

Thorsten was feeling the same, in truth. Maybe even much more so. The Thorwalsh cherished their freedom more than anything else, and he was no exception. Being tied up all day drove him near mad. He used to spend his days practising with axe and shield or competing against his friends in throwing axes, drinking and brawling. Brawling with girls could sometimes lead to other things, especially if he lost, and he missed that too.

"Let's say we did make it." Thorsten whispered carefully. "How do you plan on surviving in the wild? You struck me as a fancy man, not one of hunting, trapping or fishing?"

Thorsten was half decent with a fishing rod but on the run they would not have time to spend hours on the banks of streams catching fish. With a bow and arrow he could hit a ship at one hundred yards but he doubted that he would be able to hit a fleeing hare, let alone shoot a deer through the neck.

"I know as little of those things as you do." Léon admitted. "But the raiders are well provisioned."

"So we would steal as much food as we could, take their fastest horses and then what?"

"We have to find sell-swords for hire if we mean to return to these parts." Léon replied vaguely.

"Maybe we could make it down the Ingval to Nostria or even Thorwal." Thorsten offered. "I saw a few half-decent boats in the abandoned villages. If we are where I think we are, all we must do is go sou-sou-west. If we reach the river before they find us, we can outrun them on the stream."

The raiders might have been used to living in the woods but they had no decent boatmen as far as they knew. And even if they did, Thorsten was sure that he could outmatch any Andergastian fisher, timber rafter or ferryman that might have tried his luck with the outlaws.

"It's settled then?" Léon asked and Thorsten ground his teeth.

Somehow the Horasian had won again.

"It is imperative that we act the part convincingly." He went on, taking Thorsten's silence for approval. "It will take some compromise on our part to be sure."

That meant keeping his mouth shut a lot, Thorsten knew. He would have to keep his rage under control and his pride in check too. He prayed to Swafnir that it would not take too long. The old man at guard stirred then and woke as heavy drops of water started falling down on them from above. Over the dense roof of trees it was raining only mildly but the water accumulated somewhere before inevitably finding it's way downwards in thick, cold droplets.

With a strange sense of delight Thorsten listened to the complaints and curses of waking outlaws. As for himself, he was glad that the piss was being washed off his face. And if the raiders could not get enough sleep, surely that would help keep their guard down.

"One in three captives tried to run after they joined us." Diego warned them the next morning. "So far, we have recaptured all of them. I will not doubt your sincerity without cause but if you harbour any thought of making off, know that we will hunt you down and personally deliver you to the impaler."

He might have said "cut your throat" or "skin you alive" or any number of things, but apparently, being given to Varg was the worst he had to offer. Maybe, if Thorsten and Léon had remained captives, they would have been given to other giants who maybe were not quite as worse.

"Have no fear, boss." Léon smiled confidently but Thorsten only managed a forced nod.

As a punishment for pissing on them, Diego had Derek loose their fetters. Thorsten knocked his head so hard into the young man's face that the once broken nose broke once again and it's owner cried like a child. To top that off, Léon placed his balled fist on top of it a second time, as soon as he too had two free hands. That gave an aproving look from Diego and laughter all around.

"Here are the rules." Diego's face turned serious again. "Had you joined freely you would have been allowed to keep your possessions. But the way you joined I fear what was yours is ours now. However, you need weapons. You can find better ones in time, I am sure. You should have no trouble rising in the company either."

Then he went on about how there was to be no fighting and thieving within the party, that camp followers were to be respected, how loot was divided, how much and when they were going to be paid and other things, but all Thorsten could think about was getting a decent weapon.

If he had hoped however to receive the huge Andergaster, he was disappointed. He and Léon each received a bent spear and small square shield with a crude wolf's head painted on it. On top of that, Thorsten received a short sword and Léon the thick, broad-bladed dagger that had been on Thorsten's hip before the battle at Andrafall.

When Thorsten asked for armour he was informed that they would have to rise in the ranks and earn it first, or take it off a corpse they made, but was given the scale shirt and gambeson anyway on account of it being too large for anyone else to wear and a wolf-skin cap to keep his head warm and dry. Léon asked for his florett too and recieved it without hesitation. The raiders had used the thing as a meat skewer in the mean time, roasting two hares and a quail over a fire with it. The steel was bent, sooty and shun in queer colours but he didn't seem to mind that as much as Thorsten had expected.

When Léon complained however that his gold and silver was missing, the copper-skinned Tulamid only shrugged and said that it would be unjust to deny the camp followers their hard earned coins. No doubt Léons wealth was spread all over the company by then, and impossible to retrieve. He would be payed like the others and had to be content with that.

Without money they would not be able to buy sellswords, Thorsten knew, but if they made it to Thorwal that would not be a problem. They could wait for his father to return with the fleet or try and raise a new force from the many villages. In any case, they would have to figure out a way to fight the giants effectively. As far as Thorsten had seen, the way of the shield wall, axes, spears and bows had been woefully ineffective. If they meant to stand a chance they would need huge long- or war bows pulled by the strongest amongst men and walls of sturdy, well made spears to keep the giants at bay. But for any of that, they would have to get away first.

The outlaws welcomed them two-fold. On the one hand, they seemed reserved and mistrusting to new folk in their ranks, on the other they seemed glad to have new faces among them. Thorsten made a point of looking grim and dangerous so that he would not have to answer too many questions but some men were simply too curious to care. The younger ones were more amicable to him he found out quickly and some of them soon became impossible to hate.

Thorsten saved his sausage that morning to start on provisions for their escape but did not receive a second when he asked for it. With money he would have been able to buy one but that would have to wait until Diego would pay them. A member of the howling wolves made ten coppers a week, the equivalent of a silver coin which was handsome pay for any common man, and was allowed to keep spoils he made, except food items, too. Food was given out three times a day, however tightly rationed.

The fighting men and camp followers were allowed to trade and gamble with each other though and so Thorsten won five coppers and a heel of bread arm wrestling against three men, all of whom he beat. A friendly, middle-aged woman offered to wash his clothes for him and he gladly paid her a copper before taking a quick, naked bath in a nearby stream. Léon tried himself at dice but only lost his dagger and indebted himself to the tune of two silver coins which did not win him any friends. His proposal to solve the issue by a "duel of first blood" was not well received either.

Soon, they were riding again though, and there was no time to worry. The rain fell heavier, grew weaker and came back again all day long. In cap, scale shirt and gambeson, Thorsten could not be bothered by that but the endless riding soon made his body ache almost everywhere. Thorwalsh were a people of boats and ships, not used to horse back over long distances.

Not used to fight on horseback either, Thorsten dabbed at nearby trees and bushes to practise, trying hard not to fall out of the saddle. As he moved up and down the column he found that the outlaws maintained an absurd number of scouts to all directions. Like a fishing net, they combed through the woods and oft as not a scout would come back with some game he made with his short bow. The scouts seemed to be the best riders among the bunch, having no trouble traversing even the most difficult grounds were roots threatened the horses' sure footing. Some were even able to ride free handed and shoot their bows from horseback while on the move, a most useful skill against anyone who didn't have a shield to protect himself, Thorsten had to concede.

The scouts also discovered a family of 'earth dwellers' which turned out to be peasants who had run away, trying their ill luck hiding in the woods. The raiders took off them what they could make use of, raped mother and daughter a few times before Diego could intervene, rode over the son when he made off and killed the father when it turned out that he was stricken with consumption. The females were offered to join the camp following and not be given as slaves to giants, which was Diego's way of trying to rectify the raping. They accepted without hesitation.

That evening, when Thorsten got off his horse he stretched and rubbed his aching back. The headache had receded so much that he could barely feel it now but he couldn't tell whether that was because his head was getting better or because the rest of him was hurting as though he had been trampled by a bull. The rain had stopped but not before it had finally soaked through the gambeson and that didn't help the pain at all. He was still rubbing when a camp follower approached him after the baggage train had arrived almost an hour later.

"Hey there, big man." She cooed, stepping wide to the side to expose a bit of ankle under her dirty, grey skirt. "For a copper I'll rub that for you. For three coppers I'll rub you somewhere else."

She leaned forward to allow a glimpse of her cleavage, one hand kneading a modestly sized breast, the other shooting forward to knead his groin through his britches. She was dirty on account of the march but not ugly by any standards. Her young face was plain, if truth be told, but Thorsten didn't mind that.

Even though he was consciously more attracted to Thorwalsh women, tall, strong, feisty and fierce, he had to admit that this one made him stir. She had dirty blonde hair that was slightly curly which made her look almost precious. But as tempted as he was, he wouldn't waste what little money he had on her.

"Try your luck with someone else." He told her and brushed her hand off him.

"Oh, come on." Her lips pursed and her hand came back. "I'm just what you need after a long ride. One silver and you can have me behind the bushes."

Her mouth moved up and his head involuntarily lowered to meet it but before they could kiss, the girl coyly moved away making him chase her. Then she smiled and pushed a finger against his mouth. By then, he was as hard as rock down below and she noticed through her caress.

"Hmm, such a big man!" She moaned softly. "Come on, I want you right now."

Thorsten allowed his hand to touch her breast which produced an excited gasp from her as he knead it while murmuring in her ear: "I do not have the money."

Abruptly, she stopped, tore his hand away and stepped backwards.

"I should have known it. Stupid boy, wasting my time like that!" She slapped him across his face, turned on her heel and stormed off, accompanied by laughter, Thorsten's loudest of all.

From the corner of his eye he saw the scout approaching, riding through the trees like a madman. Thorsten had heard the howling from the camp and the scout's echoing reply getting closer, but had not noticed the urgency with which the man rode. His brown steed had foam across her mouth and there was an arrow sticking out of the buckler on his back. He was in such a hurry that he had almost ridden down the wench and crushed her under his horse.

"Out of the way!" He screamed, but the girl could only shriek in horror, only fate saving her life.

Every fighting man came running to hear the scout's news.

Thorsten made sure that his horse was bound securely before snatching up shield and spear and running after him. When he arrived everyone stood around in a large circle and Diego had just arrived demanding to hear a report.

"Mountain men!" The scout gasped breathlessly. "Skin-wearing, jibberish-talking goat fuckers. Almost got me, the sons of whores. Half an hour north of here, on foot. Oakbert and six others are setting an ambush to delay them if they pursue."

He pulled the arrow out of his buckler to reveal a horn tip. Everyone looked at Diego as if he knew what that meant but the Tulamid outlaw looked as puzzled as all of them.

"Jibberish-talkin' ?" An old, one-eyed man with a spear inquired before anyone could say anything.

"Talking queer." The scout replied, still out of breath. "Screaming like madmen, not a word I could understand. Sounded like that giants tongue, almost."

"Ah." The old man cleared his throat and noisily spat on the ground. "Kuningaz Beryanoz, from the mountains all the way north of here. Nasty fuckers. Love to fight at night. Bloody perfect..."

He looked above towards the quickly darkening sky. There was maybe an hour left before it would be pitch dark in the forest.

"What are mountain clans doing this far south?" Someone else asked in thick, low-born Andergastian accent.

"Could be giants drove them out of there." The old man offered.

"Or they're just raiding like we are, taking what can be taken." Diego spoke to shut everyone up. "Men, we must arm ourselves and fight. We can't afford to have others fishing in our pond."

"Aye!" The men answered, even though his tone was more sour than encouraging.

Howling could be heard in the distance. Not from one throat but several, sounding frantic, scared before it ended abruptly. Diego's mouth tightened.

"Light torches and fires." He commanded. "I want our camp to shine bright as daylight. Leave the horses here, they are no use to us in the dark. Pile up all we have and make it look like a lot. All camp followers should remain with the pile."

"But the clansmen will take it!" Someone exclaimed angrily. "They'll kill everyone and take our loot!"

"Yes." Diego replied with a sour smile. "We'll present them with a plum, ripe and sweet, ready for the taking. And when they come to pluck it we shall brake out of the brush and teach them to return to the damned mountains from whence they came!"

-

"Do those of poor life choices have an affinity to drink or does drink lead to poor life choices, you think?" The queer lord asked from across the table.

"Drinking is a poor life choice, my Lord Mannelig." Dari replied, drinking heavy on her ale.

They both laughed. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of roasting meat. It was deep in the night and Dari was starving for food. At the other end of the hall, Bergatroll roared over something Nagash had told her. Sitting on a vast pile of furs the two giantesses had a lot to tell each other in their old, ogrish tongue Dari couldn't understand a word of. Together they occupied a good third of the massive, ancient structure, even though it would have had to be twice as high if it meant to allow either of them to stand upright.

"I see my daughter is enjoying herself." Mannelig observed contently. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to host you."

Dari gave a friendly smile even though she was still shaking inside.

"What are the odds?" She asked, looking over to Bergatroll and Nagash. "You are not her natural father are you?"

"No, hehe." Lord Mannelig smiled back. "But I accept my wife's daughter as my own, as is my right."

Still, he would be wise to ask Nagash as to her thoughts of that, but Dari was not one to point out the fly in his ointment.

He leaned over the table: "I have arranged to feast your men outside. It sounded like they much preferred that?"

"Yes." Dari replied courteously. "And thank you. This was all a quite...unexpected. I cannot blame them for not trusting our sudden luck."

Neither did she for that matter, but she wouldn't say that either.

"A victory without fighting is a victory indeed. Or be it without much fighting. My people will grieve for the ones my daughter slew."

A sudden bitterness swept into his vigour that made his grief over the twenty or so spearmen Nagash had killed so real that it sounded as though he thought of them as sons of his own blood. Even with her leg injury , the giantess had made short work of the first levies they encountered without being struck even once. Mannelig's men had run off to their lord who had asked his wife to help in the defence. But when the two giantesses recognized each other, no fighting was resumed.

"We did not know, my lord." She apologised. "The ale-trader was bound for you but mistook our village for your holdfast on account of the great hut we built for your daughter. Starving as we were, we took what they had, him and his men, and through his protests we heard of your manor here. We never expected to be welcomed with such open arms."

With Nagash's loyalties suddenly in question and Lord Mannelig still armed with sword and mail she resolved that it was best to tread carefully here. Mannelig was hard to read, or so easy to read that one was naturally inclined to mistrust. His emotions, thoughts and feelings were so obvious that they either had to be true or the play acting of the greatest liar Dari had ever seen. Either way, she had loosened the knife on her belt.

'What kind of man marries that?' She thought, looking over to Bergatroll.

She was not as tall as Nagash but had a lot more mass to her. Her skin was darker too, as was her hair. If Nagash had a father, she clearly took more after him. After rejoining, mother and daughter were inseparable and did not care at all for the little humans around them. They opened the gigantic doors to the hall and crawled in, serving girls scurrying out of their paths. Bergatroll had only stopped to demand meat and mead of her husband but never so much as waited for a reply.

Dari sensed that there could be more to Mannelig's hospitality than feeding his wife's daughter.

"I know, child." He raised his hands to calm her. "Before I met my wife in these mountains, my people and I knew hungry nights all too well. But how came that you were starving, pray tell me?"

"You know of our...goddesses." She began, the word bitter on her tongue as often as she said it. "We...our village is making food for them, hunting and gathering in the woods around. But as of late the forrest does not yield enough to feed us any longer. "

"Have you not arranged for stores?" He interjected with a raised brow.

"How could we have?" Dari shrugged helplessly. "Our goddesses consume more than all us combined in one sitting. And since they left four days ago and we cannot feed ourselves people have started to disappear taking crucial tools and supplies with them. By raiding your holdfast with the help of your fearsome daughter we hoped to sustain ourselves longer until our goddesses came back."

That was not all the truth, but Dari was a master liar herself. The fanatics that had taken Laura, and sometimes even Janna, for goddesses would never abandon the village, even if it meant death. But Dari was only staying in the dreadful place on account of Xardas' quest. She had gone to the giant mountain of metal a few times only to see that it was impossible for any human to climb. But her relationship with Nagash was not good enough yet to ask her to betray the titanic girls and help Dari steal the broken druid. Therefore she had to hold on, pass more time and look for an opportunity. There was no doubt in her mind that if she abandoned it all and fled, Xardas would find and kill her. Vividly, she remembered the pages in his memoires, and she did not want to be subject to any of which she had read there.

"Ah, I saw the hungry look on your faces after my wife and daughter were so unexpectedly rejoined. The look of men who have eaten bark and worms and considered eating their own dead."

He shuddered deeply before turning to the serving girls that oddly made up all other people in the hall: "Serve the food now, our guests are starving."

Huge chunks of roasted mutton were cut from one of the spits where whole animals turned over fires. A wheel of goat cheese and a platter of onions were placed on the table aswell. Bergatroll and Nagash received a whole roasted goat each and in front of Dari they placed a heavy cast-iron pot which contents smelled so good that Dari's stomach churned painfully.

"Ah, kid, cooked in her mothers' own milk flavoured with herbs from the mountains." Lord Mannelig rubbed his hands together. "My people may call me Lord of Mutton, but I dare say not even Queen Effine of Andergast eats this fine on a regular day, eh?"

"Kid?" Dari asked shocked, peering into the pot.

"Ha!" Mannelig chuckled tiredly. "You are a city girl, I knew. Eh, baby goat, as it were."

"It smells delicious." She said relieved, grabbing for a wooden bowl and spooning suckling goat and milk-sauce into it.

Lord Mannelig watched her amusedly and she stopped. Had she made a mistake, by chance failed to follow some local custom? The queer lord made it easy to trust him. Too easy, in fact.

"Apologies, my lord." She stammered. "Would you like to thank the gods first?"

And what god would those be, she added in her mind. The Twelve were common in these parts of the world, but many Andergastians still served animistic gods of mountains, wind, rivers and trees. A foolish thing, if the ramblings of the forever preaching Praios-priests could be believed.

"I can see that your goddesses do not demand such of you." He observed. "But to be honest, I was only watching you because I like the face of a pleased guest. Eat! I'm sure what ever gods there are would begrudge you starving to death in prayer."

He had said it so flatly that it couldn't possibly have a hidden meaning and still Dari was suspicious.

"What do you mean, my lord?" She asked, putting the spoon back into the cast-iron pot.

"Eh, I mean, if there are gods, they surely smile at you. The world is not a kind place for woman folk, noble or not though you may be."

"You find it queer that I, a mere girl in your eyes, would head a village?"

"Oh, you do me wrong, child." He looked at her sadly. "Personally, I think, eh, if more women were in positions of power the world would be a much better place. More peaceful, if you catch my meaning."

That was just wrong. Dari was an assassin, a murderer who didn't blink before taking a life, and taken lives she had more than she could count. Queen Effine ruled in Andergast, a country in turmoil with thousands, if not tens of thousands dead already and greater disaster looming. Nagash had frequently killed villagers before Janna had put Steve and Christina into her care and went away. And Laura and Janna were women too, or close enough, and they killed more than anyone.

If not for Bergatroll, Nagash and Dari would have torn this place apart and made off with all the food and livestock it had to offer. Mannelig clearly didn't know who he was talking to. Or did he? He was squirming slightly, because Dari wasn't eating. She could tell.

"What do you want, my lord?" Dari asked, fingering the knife on her belt.

She could kill him and be out of here before Bergatroll could make even a grunt, to be sure. It was time to learn what shenanigans this queer lord was up to. Lord Mannelig looked perplexed for a moment before he looked hurt.

"Ah, you trust me not." He said disgruntled. "Have I done you any unkindness?"

"You have done me too much of a kindness, my lord." She said, stiffening in her chair. "Spare me your false courtesies. What do you hope to gain from this?"

He looked at her, forlorn, but something in his eyes had told her that she had struck some truth at least. Dari was too hungry, too weak and tired for this nonsense.

"What, Lord Mannelig, what?" She spat. "Do you wish for me to keep your existence from our goddesses when they return, is that it? Or do you wish for your daughter to stay here with you? What?!"

"Is she giving you trouble, husband?" Bergatroll's growling voice washed through the hall. "Don't worry, I will kill her if she does not behave."

A grim silence followed that, interrupted only by the crackling of fires and sizzling of grease on the spits. Dari's mouth tightened but she continued to stare at Mannelig, unabashed.

"Eh, that will not be necessary, my darling." Lord Mannelig firmly raised a hand.

"There is something I need of you." He told Dari as though it was embarrassing to him. "The ale."

Dari's mouth dropped: "The ale?"

"The ale you took, eh, from that merchant." He chewed on his lip. "He came at the behest of a good man I sent, who promised him great riches here. More will come, maybe. It is great peril to be on the roads these days, or so I am told."

"All this charade - for ale?!" Dari asked again, gesturing at the food and drink.

Lord Mannelig shook his head: "Believe me or no, but I would have mentioned it when you had eaten. I need the ale, but I am willing to give you much in exchange. There's nothing false about my courtesies, nothing but a gesture of good faith, as it were, ere we talk business."

Dari looked for any sense of falseness in his eyes but once again could not find any. Bergatroll and Nagash had still not resumed talking however, and the threat still hung in the air like a thundercloud.

"Gerti." Lord Mannelig beckoned to one of the serving girls. "Child, I believe my wife is in need of a new cask of ale. Why don't you bring it to her?"

"Yes, milord." The petite blonde curtsied clumsily in her stained, peasant dress.

"Ahhh, yes!" Bergatroll roared, satisfied. "I can always trust my good-for-nothing husband to know what I need!"

She downed the rest of the barrel in her hand, put it on the ground and smashed it to splinters under her fist. She gave Dari a last, threatening look before turning to her daughter again.

"Milord." The serving girl whispered and discreetly clutched Manneligs arm. "We only have three barrels left, milord. Please don't let her hurt us when she runs out milord?"

Judging from the tone of her voice the young girl was almost crying.

"No, my child." Mannelig put his hand on hers. "We will have new ale on the morrow and more coming after that."

He looked over to Dari who finally understood. Slouching back in his chair he unslung his sword-belt and had another serving girl take it away.

"If the gods were good they'd let us choose whom we loved. Tell me, do those of poor life choices have an affinity to drink or does drink lead to poor life choices?"

"Drinking is better than killing." Dari replied and meant it, with regards to Bergatroll at least.

She took up her own horn that she hadn't touched in a while and raised it at him before she drank.

"Ha, so it is." He smiled tiredly. "So you see my predicament."

Indeed she did. This poor, good, old man was laden with the mammoth task of keeping his wife happy, his people alive and both of them fed at the same time. There was a way to make this work for Lauraville, she knew, even before Janna and Laura came back. After, she needed only to point one of them in the general direction of this place and all would be theirs. But in the mean time, there was trade to be done.

"How well supplied are you, my lord?" She asked and finally pulled the wooden bowl to her person.

The food had cooled a bit during their altercation but still smelled heavenly to her. The taste of the goats-milk broth was sweet and savoury, laden with the taste of herbs that she had never tasted before.

"Ah, you mean to rob me blind, I know." He replied, half smiling. "I have vast herds of goat and sheep, stores of salt-meat, dried meat, pure salt, skins and hides, cheese, copper and bronze, trinkets, weapons and tools. How much ale do you have?"

"Twenty barrels, slightly smaller than the ones you have here." She said, chewing on her lip with the knowledge that Steve and some stupid villagers were most likely getting drunk as they spoke.

At the same time, she realized that she had no idea how much a barrel of ale was worth. Surely, the general scarcity of supplies, the peril of transporting it and Mannelig's overall situation would have to enter any price she'd name or accept.

"Eat." The lord motioned to her bowl. "Goat is no good eaten cold."

She took a chunk of meat and bone out of the broth and bit into it. The meat was tender and soft and the taste good enough to wash all memories of worms and bark away in an instant. She took another bite, then a third until she almost choked on it. Grease and milk-broth ran down her chin and she had to blink a tear out of her eyes, so good was it.

Mannelig smiled fatherly and motioned for her drinking-horn to be refilled. Dari washed down what she had in her mouth and took a few spoons of broth before taking up a piece from a platter with roasted meat. On this one, a grown animal judging by the size of the bones, the grease had leaked out of the skin and gelled as a yellow crust on top but under the skin there was still a thick layer of pale fat to be seen.

"Eh, best with raw onions." Mannelig beckoned and she took a few into her mouth with the unhealthy large bite she had taken.

It was much more greasy than the kid and had a slightly bitter taste to it, but the onion clearly fit right in. Though certainly not her favourite sort of meat, she welcomed the warm feeling it filled her belly with more than anything.

-

"No, mother, you can't kill her. If you do, the huge ones will kill me!"

Nagash had had this conversation two times before already, but her mother just kept bringing it up.

"Look at her." She said. "Pathetic little human. Sitting here, eating our meat, in our hall."

"Yes, and she drinks our ale too." Nagash cut her off, annoyed.

"Besides." she added. "Your husband, what ever that means, is just as pathetic. I could go over there right now and crush him flat.”

Her mother had explained of course that humans had a concept that involved men and women living together all their lives as wife and husband as oppose to the giants' way of the males strolling the country, collecting booty and slaves to impress females who lived in clans, in order to mate with them. She just acted ignorant to get back at her.

“Animals are for eating, humans are for work.” Her mother said for the hundredth time in a lifetime. “And here, with him, I have more animals than I can eat and more humans working for me than ever.”

Nagash looked over at Dari, stuffing her tiny, little belly with meat. The girl was capable and dangerous, but her mother would never understand that even though she had been trapped and cornered by humans herself. If truth be told, Nagash would probably have killed Dari if Janna and Laura had not forbidden her to do so.

“Why not crush him though?” Nagash asked. “You'd be free to kill as many others as you like.”

Driving the conversation away from Dari might prevent a later accident, she knew.

“No.” Her mother replied. “I...do like him somewhat. He is devoted to me like no other slave before him. Besides, I can kill whoever I want.”

“He is not your slave, mother, and he won't let you kill anyone.” Nagash replied in earnest. “You haven't killed anyone today, have you? Don't fool yourself.”

“Oh, I'll kill a little human before the night is done. Just you wait.”

Bergatroll eyed Dari again while she said that and took another sip of ale. She was drunk. She had been drunk when she had staggered out of the comparatively huge building, even larger than Nagash's newly built hut, and was getting even more drunk now. Their conversations spun in circles.

“If anything happens to her, I'll squash that little husband of yours.”

“Why do you protect her? Look at her. She is worthless.”

“Mother, I told you. Those huge girls want her alive.”

“Why do you consort with them anyways?” Her mother scolded her. “I don't want you around those freaks. You should stay here and live with us. It's a good life. You are not going back there. Out of the question.”

Nagash had told her the story of how she had been caught already and declined to do it all over again.

“When I'm gone, they might go look for me. And when they find us, they will kill us both.”

“Pah!” Her mother spat. “They have not found us and they will not find us here.”

“That's changed now, mother. One of the humans will tell, and then...”

Nagash remembered Janna on top of her all too well. How small and insignificant she had felt.

“Then let's crush them all.” Bergatroll suggested. “Crush all your little humans here, go back to your stupid village and kill everyone there.”

“It takes only one of them to escape us and we are doomed. It would work if we both fled, together, going somewhere else. Live like we used to live.”

Turning the table on her made her mother squirm. She clearly did not want to leave this comfortable place.

“Fine. If you want to be stupid, run back to your stupid village and starve.” She replied venomously.

They had been starving indeed, at Lauraville. Nagash most of all, for she needed more food than the little humans. Luckily, little Dari seemed to be taking care of that problem already, haggling with the tiny lord over the price for the ale Nagash had taken off that stupid trader-humans that had wandered into Lauraville a few hours ago. Dari had also been the one who figured out where the men were heading and made the suggestion to come there and look for food. That was how they had gotten here.

The blood of the puny, little spear men was still on her feet and hands. She had not recognized her mother at first and thought she would have to fight her. After what had happened in the forest a few days earlier, she did not want that at all. The shock from that encounter was still in her bones even now. The old, filthy giant she had mistaken for a tree. The queer human and his magic. The bear that had torn out a piece of her calf.

Dari had sewn the wound shut and done a couple of things to make it better, most of which involved some things that the strange girl had given her, who looked as though she had been born covered in dirt. The wound had not festered and was feeling fine, but it still slightly impaired her when moving.

She pushed a puny serving girl away from one of the spits and took the sheep that was roasting on it. She did not care that it burned her fingers and mouth when she devoured it, she needed to get her strength back. After that she cooled her tongue and temper with the rest of the ale in her barrel and shoved it onto another girl to get a new one.

The tiny thing had the insolence to run the her mother's husband first and ask him for permission.

Back when they were with their clan, Nagash and her mother had been powerful, doing with humans as they pleased. But even that had only worked because they stood away from the pinnacles of human civilization. Cities and castles Nagash had never even known existed. She thought humans lived alone, in small groups or mostly villages, only the latter remotely able to defend themselves against giants. They were like fruits on a tree, mostly just there to be taken. It was only after she had encountered free humans like Dari and Dexter that she learned that human civilization gave as little concern to remote forest-dwellers and small villages as the giants did.

It dawned upon her, that the giants had never been as powerful as she had thought. Merely a nuisance to humanity as a whole. Albino had tried to change that and failed. Nagash was glad her clan never took part in the war, but she wondered what the world would look like today, if the pale giant had succeeded.

Bergatroll had scathingly looked away for a while but was too drunk to keep it up for long.

“They are haggling over ale.” She smiled drunkenly. “My husband knows he has to keep me happy. Otherwise I kill the little serving slaves.”

“And look who is doing the haggling.” Nagash threw in. “Two pathetic, little humans arguing while we sit back here like children.”

That struck home more than Nagash had expected. Saying it aloud even hurt her own pride.

Her mother did not seem as dismayed by it as she was though.

“Let's show them who is really in charge.” She suggested with mischief in her eyes and already made to crawl forward.

Nagash followed but as narrow as the hall was, they filled out the entire width when they were next to each other. Worse yet, if they just crawled straight towards the exit, her mother would end up on Dari's, and Nagash on Lord Mannelig's side of the table. Awkwardly, she let her mother crawl first and then forced herself in so that she would come up above Dari and be able to protect her. Nagash knew herself and how she could get carried away, but her mother was no different.

The tiny serving girls scurried out of the way and pressed themselves against the walls to avoid them, but the furniture in the middle of the hall was not so lucky. Four chairs and two tables were crushed under their hands and knees before the two giantesses arrived at their position, menacingly close to the tiny humans.

Before, they had been discussing how many heads of cattle Lauraville was to receive from Lord Mannelig for the twenty barrels of ale they had captured. Now, of course, they both shut up on account of the commotion.

“Eh, do my ladies wish to leave the hall?” The little lord inquired. “A call of nature perhaps?”

“No, husband.” Bergatroll grinned. “We are here to discuss the terms.”

That sounded a lot more dreary than Nagash had initially expected.

“There is no need, good wife.” The tiny lord said. “We were just about to agree on terms, this young lady and I.”

“Were you?” Her tone suggested belittlement. “And weren't you going speak to me, before you agreed?”

He looked startled and helpless.

“Eh, you never showed much interest in how I procured your ale. Only in drinking it.”

“Oh, and so you thought you could just decide these matters over my head?”

She washed the back of her hand over him, lightly almost, but it was enough to knock him off his chair.

“And you?” Bergatroll turned to Dari.

“And you thought that you could decide this over my head.” Nagash intervened.

“Nagash, I, uh...” Dari stammered.

Her tiny hand was on her tiny knife that she kept a viciously sharp edge on.

“Draw that thing at me and I crush you.” Nagash informed her. “Get on your knees and apologise that you would even think of that.”

“Yes, kneel before your betters, you little worm.” Her mother concurred.

The tiny lord was on his knees a moment later: “My darling, I beg you, there is no need for this.”

“Shut up, you good-for-nothing human.” Bergatroll grinned maliciously at him. “Crawl through my legs and lick my soles. They are dirty.”

But the little lord did no such thing and tried to reason with her instead.

“My good wife, I have agreed to...”

“Now!” Bergatroll spat at him her dark eyes glaring.

He gave a last helpless look at Dari, crawled on to his feet and made his way through in between Bergatroll's arms all the way back to her feet. Nagash looked over her shoulder to see him obediently doing as he was bid, only stopping to shoot a worried glance forward ever so often.

“Now look.” She addressed Dari before her mother could. “That's an obedient little human.”

The girl's was collected, but her face spoke of bitterness for she knew that she would draw the shorter straw with Nagash in this situation.

“You want me to lick your feet?” She asked, beaten, before remembering to kneel down.

“No.” Nagash replied and brought her hand over the little girl.

Just as she began to push down, Dari predictably rolled out from underneath and rammed her knife into Nagash's skin. Now Nagash had her where she wanted her. She swept her hand sideways and knocked Dari into the table so hard that the girl landed on top of it, ale and half eaten dishes falling everywhere. She pressed down her hand on her, just hard enough so that she couldn't squirm away.

With her free hand, Nagash picked out the knife and flicked it away into the hall.

By her side, her mother was looking on with obvious enjoyment but also envy in her eyes. Nagash knew that if she let her put a hand on Dari, that would be the end of the little girl.

“I don't feel you licking, husband!” Bergatroll called to the back and Nagash could see Mannelig scurrying back to his duty a moment after.

The pathetic, little man had not said a word.

“Now, you want to fight me, is that it?” Nagash leaned over Dari, her hand pressing on her chest.

The table was large for humans, robust, solid timber but did not rested on feet as some tables did but rather two boards on either side. If she distributed the pressure along the length of the table it should break quite easily, or so she hoped.

She allowed more of her weight to compress Dari's chest. The girl panicked as she became unable to breathe, but none of the squirming, punching or kicking was able to even tickle Nagash. Without weapons, the tiny girl was helpless beneath her. Nagash knew that already, but it couldn't hurt to give her another reason to remember that. Also, if Nagash didn't bully Dari, her mother would and that would end deadly, Nagash had no doubt.

“What do you think breaks first. You, or the table?”

The tiny mouth screaming, pleading silent words, the minuscule head shaking, eyes wide with terror. Nagash leaned in a bit more but shifted so that her weight would force the feet of the table sideways. A smile formed around her mouth as she pushed.

The table did break first and Nagash had to restrain herself so not squash the tiny torso flat under her weight as everything landed on the ground. Dari coughed and wheezed in pain, holding her side. Nagash might have cracked a rip or two, but that would not kill the tiny girl. She was tougher than that, even though one might have thought otherwise upon looking at her.

Nagash put a hand beneath the broken table and flipped it over, sending Dari flying through the air and landing on the ground with a crash.

“How do you like that?” She laughed. “Still think you can fight me?”

She punched the ground right next to the tiny girl's head and she shrunk together into a little heap of crying nothingness.

Nagash put the ball of her hand onto the tiny head and applied some pressure, drawing cries of despair.

“Please, Nagash, I didn't mean to...I didn't mean to...I should have asked...please!”

Satisfied, Nagash dragged over a serving girl from the wall, forced her to the ground next to Dari and put the ball of her hand on her head.

“Remember this.” She said coldly, before leaning onto it until the puny little skull cracked to splinters, and squelched flat under weight.

“Let's do it at what ever price the two of them haggled out.” She adressed her mother, after wiping her hands clean of blood and brains on the wall.

-

Only a few fires would catch on, because of the wetness of the wood. Thorsten had tried to build one himself and had failed miserably, as had Léon. And Léon was in no good shape at all. He had exchanged his vest for a ruined gambeson on the Andra but lost it when they were captured and had not gotten it back when they joined the raiders. All day in the rain, he had worn only his white shirt, wet to the bone. Now he was showing signs of the cold, coughing, sneezing and shivering.

If he developed a fever here, that might well be the end of him, Thorsten knew. But there were more imminent threats to be combated first.

The pitifully light short sword on his belt had a jagged edge at best and the six foot long spear in his hand was bent sideways. The small board shield he had on his left arm was no comparison to the huge, painted round shields he was used to. It was made from crude boards, nailed to two other boards with two leather handles. A good blow with an axe and the thing would come lose on itself and discontinue to be of use.

Still, it was the best he had. No one was using the Andergaster great-sword, but if truth be told, in the density of the forest the huge blade was more like to entangle itself in some branches than inflicting injury upon an opponent.

The raiders huddled in the brushes, the sparely lit camp with the women, children and infirm between them and where they thought the enemy would come from. Diego had promised the ones in the camp a silver each, when this was over. He said the camp had to have people in it, lest the enemy would smell the feint. The women took it bravely, and the wounded and infirm men as well.

The horses were bound behind the ambushing men to alarm them should clansmen approach from the rear.

No one knew how many men were coming though, and no further howling was heard either. The Kuningaz Beryanoz liked to fight at night but were wild people otherwise, little above animals, the old, one-eyed spearman swore. Thorsten had bumped Léon in the ribs, to see if this was a good moment to run away. The Horasian had coughed and shaken his head, looking worried.

So it was then, Thorsten decided. More fighting. He didn't look forward to doing it in the twilight, with the weapons he had or the men along side him, but fighting was what he liked best nonetheless.

The brushes rustled on the other side of the camp.

'Had that been the wind?'

It must have been the wind because nothing happened for a while after. Then suddenly, a scream tore the silence apart and a woman went down in the camp, a javelin sticking out of her back. One, two, three more throwing spears and arrows struck camp followers who went down screaming, crying, or not doing anything at all.

The group of women tried to run left, ere a few were struck down with javelins and they turned right to the same result. They huddled, waited, cried. Thorsten couldn't help but imagine a ground of Thorwalsh shield maidens charging into the forest with axe, shield and spear. What a great sight that would be, he thought.

But these women did not even carry weapons. The attackers seemed to notice that as well because no further arrow or javelin came flying. A murmur went up in the brushes, that sounded like dogs slobbering at each other.

Then the cry went up. It was one at first, saying the word, what ever it meant and then others joined in.

“Toten! Toten, toten! Toten, toten, toten, ya, ya, ya!”

And thus they advanced: “Toten! Toten! Toten!”

Thorsten looked over to Diego but the outlaw's expression remained hard as stone. He had his strange, southern recurved bow in his hands and an arrow on the string but he did not seem to care to shoot yet. Diego's arrow was to be the signal for everyone else. He was to make the first shot, and before that, nobody was supposed to move.

The men that stepped into the torchlight looked wild and fearsome, just as they had been described. They word ragged furs and hides that matched their wild manes. On their heads, many wore skulls, some human, others from animals, sheep and goats mostly, the ones with horns looking most frightening.

“Was das?” One man grunted, gesturing at the cowering camp followers and infirm men while more savages poured from the woodwork.

There were many, and still more to come. Most of their weapons did not shine in the light though. A closer look revealed that they were mere stones attached to wooden branches, wooden clubs and spears, hardened with fire. Some flint stone axes Thorsten could see and only few, crude copper ones.

One man pulled one of the prettier camp follower to her feet, laughed and tore at her dress to free her bosom. When he started fondling her breast, others started to fall over the rest of the women and girls, grunting and whistling. A wounded man on the ground had his head smashed open by a stone hammer.

Then Diego's arrow flew, striking one man with a human skull for a face-mask right into the eye. He let out a long, confused grunt, before dropping to the ground, dead. For a terrible moment, the mountain men looked at where the arrow had come from. A heartbeat later, the raiders loosed their shafts striking a dozen in an instant.

Another row of arrows was loosed before the men could get their hide shields up. Howling like a pack of mad wolves, the raiders rushed forth, weapons in hand. Javelins and arrows greeted them, striking a few but mostly in shields. One Javelin slammed into the tree next to Thorsten's head and he remembered that he was supposed to rush forward too.

He saw one raider get hit by a throwing spear in the chest with so much force that the flint stone tip came out on the other side of him. Javelins would make a fine weapon against giants and giantesses, Thorsten thought oddly before he made to move.

In the torch-lit area the shadows of the fighting men danced like shapes from nightmares on the trees all around. The air was filled with screaming and howling. Thorsten stuck his spear into the throat of a skull-wearing savage that was fighting an outlaw with his wooden club. A spearman rushed at him, but Thorsten deflected the blow with his shield and stuck the bent spear into his chest, driving him down.

A stone mace came flying out of nowhere, and Thorsten ducked just in time to avoid it. He slammed his shoulder into the attacker and knocked him off his feet, let go of his spear that had become stuck in the other man and used the edge of his shield to bludgeon the man to death whilst he was on the ground.

As soon as his short sword was drawn he had to use it to clumsily parry the stab of a wooden spear. Shocked he noted that he had missed.

“Ha!” The goat-horned man made as his spear slammed into Thorsten's chest.

The tip was only wood but sharpened viciously and hardened over a fire.

The man looked at him, victorious at first but perplexed and frightened an instant after.

'I'm not dying.' Thorsten thought in the back of his head.

The spearman stabbed again, unopposed, but his weapon proved unable to do anymore than produce a ringing from the heavy metal scales. Their eyes met before Thorsten drew his sword through the man's face, killing him.

He saw Léon, grinning superiorly, fighting two men at once. He dodged the blow of a mace and danced in to stick his florett through the man's throat. The spear thrust that came from behind him struck the savage as well because the Horasian had already spun away. His florett flashed and the attacker had it sticking out of his eye a moment later.

A wooden club flew at Thorsten's own face but he managed to dodge sideways. His attacker did not wait to ponder about it, but let more blows follow in quick succession, left, right, up, down, all his efforts went into Thorsten's shield.

When it was Thorsten's time to hack at him, the man did the very same thing, parrying Thorsten's blows with his hide shield. Hide did not hold up as good as wood however and by the end of it the shield had been hacked to pieces.

When the wooden club came flying again, Thorsten met it with his sword and hit the man with the edge of his shield. He lost his weapon, fell to the ground and Thorsten stabbed him to death almost lazily while he already looked for new opponents.

His eyes met those of a huge man with something huge in his hands. An axe, huge, double-sided and made from copper shun like doom in the torchlight. Parrying it with his shield meant breaking an arm, parrying it with the sword meant losing the sword, Thorsten knew at once. But before the man could strike, an arrow hit him in the shoulder, white goose-feather fletching.

The savage attacker spun and fell but kept on one knee somehow, leaning heavily on his weapon. Thorsten lunged forward and buried the edge of his sword deep into the man's skull. He had word a skull over his own, Thorsten saw, making him look like the thing out of a nightmare. Had he hoped that it would serve him as a helmet though, then he had made the bet without Thorsten's own savage strength.

The blade had bent on impact however, and when Thorsten wrenched it free, it broke in half, rendering it useless. He shook off the shield and took up the huge, clumsy axe instead.

“Aaaargh!” He screamed in bloody madness and started hacking at the next best man.

Blood and brains spattered everywhere as Thorsten unleashed the fury on the men around. He saved a Howling Wolf from two attackers with two savage blows and butted a third man into the stomach before hacking his head clean off.

The raiders were loosing the fight, he realized somewhere in his mind, being outnumbered almost two to one. An arrow hit him in the shoulder but bounced off ineffectually on his armour. He darted behind the nearest tree, then the next, making his way away from the thick of the fighting over to the archers.

They noticed him and tried to ward him off with arrows, one scratching his leg but he could barely take note of that. When he came at them he had to duck under another shaft that would have hit him square in the face but then he was close enough to give the archers some payback.

Most of them ran away, only the closest trying to fight him. He struck down five men before making pursuit of the others but realized soon that it was no good to him stumbling through the darkness in the undergrowth.

He re-emerged behind most of the mountain men and slew seven before they even knew he was there. The axe in his hands was a crude thing that most men would have found more of a hindrance than useful, but not so Thorsten. If the archers he had chased off came back, he'd be a dead man, but he was beyond caring at this point. Somehow, surely, his soul would find some stream or river in these wretched woods, and that river would take him to the sea, down into Swafnir's halls.

Left, right, left he swung, sometimes cracking two heads with a single blow. Those he struck went down and those behind them turned around to face him. Soon however, they did not even try to attack him, but rather get away from the mad, axe-swinging Thorwalsh, bumping and shoving into their comrades.

Then suddenly the entire flank broke and ran, Thorsten's axe crashing on more heads and victorious Howling Wolves in pursuit. On the far side, he saw Léon, dodging and defending himself against three. His free arm was injured and clutched to his side, he was limping and barely managed to avoid and fend off blows. His Stupid, arrogant grin was washed from his face and he looked terrified.

Tightly clutching his axe, Thorsten went over, making the weapon spin in his hands, screaming. The first blow knocked one opponent into the other and the second and third split their heads. The fourth came up from below and struck the last man in the chest, knocking him off his feet before Thorsten buried the axe-head in his torso. It had all happened in less than a second.

Léon looked at him, scared to death, clutching his broken arm, the florett bent like a too often used toothpick.

“Gods help us.” He stammered, looking.

Thorsten realised the wetness of himself and remembered that he was covered in blood. He grinned involuntarily, so wide that it might have split his face. With Léon's mouth still agape, he turned around and made to the other side of the battlefield, where fighting was still going on. He loved it. He had loved every minute of it and had tickling butterflies in his stomach to bursting as he approached.

“Hahahahaha!” He laughed and a tear ran down his cheek.

He couldn't help it. He was so happy, so free of all troubled that it just burst out of him.

The mountain men heard him. Everyone heard him. Fighting men stopped exchanging blows to watch the approaching hunk of a man with a huge double-bladed axe in his hand, covered in blood head to heel. And then they ran, every last one of them. Some outlaws used the swing of battle to run down fleeing enemies while others just gaped at Thorsten.

Thorsten ran after and hacked down another three enemies himself before exhaustion hit him. He broke down, wheezing like the sea itself and had to sit a while and collect himself. Some raiders were still in pursuit, howling in the distance. When he had caught his breath, he got up and found that the pain in his leg was worse than he expected. In the heat of battle he had not felt it, but now it only allowed him to limp along, crutching on the pommel of his axe. The pain in his head was back again too, blurring his vision.

Still, he moved about looking for loot. He found the helmet that Léon had given him and took it in spite of the fresh dent and blood inside of it. He found his old heavy dagger as well and took that too. On top of that, he helped himself to a captured Thorwalsh round-shield and axe. The attackers did not carry anything worth taking though.

Many a raider lay slain in the dirt and many wounded were calling out for help. Thorsten didn't care. He found Léon sitting beneath the tree where he had last seen him, still clutching his arm. He coughed and wheezed and seemed to be in pain.

“We should have run.” He said weakly, grinding his teeth together.

“Then why didn't we?” Thorsten asked examining the wound on his leg.

It was deeper than he had thought.

Léon shrugged helplessly: “Every one was armed and on guard. I thought we might get a better opportunity. I didn't expect these mountain savages to be so numerous.”

“We should have slipped away during the fighting.” Thorsten agreed.

But during the fighting he had not had a mind for fleeing. He would have rather died than fled. Though the ecstasy had worn off, he still felt warm and happy inside in spite of the pain.

“Bring me something to bind my arm with. I fear it is broken.” Léon asked and Thorsten went to cut a sash from some dead man's clothing.

More raiders were coming back by then, claiming their share of loot, and even some surviving camp followers stepped into the dying light of the torches.

“Well, fuck me bloody.” Arn said upon seeing Thorsten. “You must have slain a hundred of them.”

“Or close enough.” Thorsten allowed with a tired smile.

He hadn't killed near as many, and many had gotten away unscathed, but he welcomed the compliment nonetheless. Many looked at him, he found, full of gratitude and admiration. Seffel, a young man Thorsten had befriended came over, the huge abandoned bronze-axe in hand.

“Are you sure you do not want this?” He asked and Thorsten shook his head.

“If both your hands are on an axe, the arrows will get you before you can even strike a blow.” He explained, still out of breath. “Must have a shield.”

“Didn't look like no arrows hit you though.” Seffel grinned cheekily. “Where did you learn fighting like that?”

“He's a Thorwalsh.” Arn said, full of admiration. “All Thorwalsh fight like that. Why do you think them Horasians never conquered the lot, eh?”

“Boil some bandages for me.” Thorsten told Seffel. “Not all arrows missed me, I'm afraid.”

He motioned to the wound in his leg, still seeping blood.

“You're as strong and stupid as an ox, Thorsten.” The young man replied. “You should have done it like me and stay were there's no fightin'.”

“If all men were like you, we wouldn't survive three days.” Arn laughed and whacked him over the back of his head. “Now go and boil the bloody bandages. Get Elgor and the half-wit too.”

At Andrafall, most wounded who didn't drown in the river or got crushed by horses had been stepped on by careless giants as they took over the fighting. A few had even found their way into Varg's hands, ending up impaled on stakes because she had found that there weren't enough surviving Thorwalsh for a sufficiently gruesome spectacle. That had left the Howling Wolves with only a few wounded and infirm that had been cared for by the camp followers.

Now though, it looked like every second man was wounded in one way or another. While Silent Elgor bound his wounds, Thorsten counted. Thirty one men were left to them when the last had returned from the pursuit, cheering and howling victoriously. Diego walked among the corpses, sour as ever.

“You think, you can fight another time?” He asked Thorsten when passing by him.

Thorsten wasn't sure. He was exhausted, wounded and dizzy.

“These goat fuckers are coming back, make no mistake.” Diego said without waiting for a reply. “And they still outnumber us and they know where we are.”

“But we beat them...” Thorsten said hopefully.

“It's how they fight.” Diego replied sourly. “Oldwine, the one-eyed man knows them. He's from the foot of the mountains north of here. They mean to rout an enemy with their appearance but break when they meet too much resistance. Then they run and come back again, until there's no one left to stand against them. Let's hope they leave off until tomorrow.”

They didn't sleep at all, that night, too worried the savages may came back. They laid in the dark, listening for them. But the Kuningaz Beryanoz stayed away, licking their own wounds for the moment, it seemed.

As soon as light permitted them they put those able to ride on the best horses and bound the others together in columns. Diego meant to march the herd to the giants so that they could butcher and eat them. It was bitter, but better than coming back empty handed, all agreed. After that, he meant to hurry to Sly's party and join with them for good before he could find willing sell-swords to buy with the giants' gold.

Léon looked as though he might fall off his horse. Wounded and ill, the Horasian was as pale as a ghost and Thorsten feared for him. He had to lift him up and push him so that he could even climb into the saddle. The worst of the wounded they simply left behind. There was no helping them, especially after one of the seasoned scouts swore he had seen a clansman in the brushes just five hundred meters away.

Thorsten's wound gave him agony as he climbed his own new, better fed, better footed horse and a jab of pain shot up his leg every time he went up and down in the saddle. But it was no use trying to get any rest.

They had not ridden a hundred yards before three men were struck down by arrows and javelins. This time it was the mountain men ambushing them. Diego didn't even need to give any orders. They cut the horses loose, turned around and ran as fast as the forest permitted them to.

“Left!” Diego screamed then. “There is more of them that way!”

And left they swung only to run into another ambush that cost four men their lives. Seffel died with a horn-tipped arrow in his throat but Thorsten was too scared himself to care.

“They're coming from all sides!” Someone screamed and galloped the other way in panic.

His mare slipped on a bunch of roots and broke a leg, going down burying the rider beneath it, screaming in bloody agony.

“Come on! Fast!” Diego commanded and went the same way but taking care to let his horse find it's own way amongst the roots the way it was supposed to be done.

Thorsten turned and followed him and arrow whizzing past his ear.

Somehow, they found a game trail that allowed them to move faster and Thorsten was glad to see Léon by his side. From behind he could hear screaming and grunting. On left and right he saw savages running through the woods.

“It's a three side ambush!” Diego called from the front. “We have to make it out!”

Léon coughed beside him and almost fell but Thorsten reached out and pushed him back into the saddle. An axe-man stepped onto the path in front of Diego, grinning and shouting but the Tulamid's sabre flashed a moment later and the man's head came flying off when he passed him.

“Come on, we can make it!” Thorsten shouted at Léon.

The Horasian was squinting his eyes as though he could barely see from pain. Behind them, a horse screamed and went down and some other man fell off his horse, struck by something. They made it out, somehow, escaping the closing jaw the savages meant to trap them in.

But that didn't mean that they could relax. When the game trail ended abruptly, the horses speed was reduced to barely more than that of a slow running man. They had to push on and hope against hope that they would get away. Thorsten didn't even know in which direction they were riding, nor did he think that Diego knew or cared.

They stopped after two hours and slid off their horses. Thorsten tried to give Léon a drink of water from his wineskin but found that an arrow had pierced it and the water had leaked out. They had lost everyone but thirteen men. Arn gave water to Thorsten and Léon and caught their horses that had gone wandering about in search for a drink for themselves.

“You two!” Diego pointed at the last two scouts that were with their party. “Fall back and see if they come after us!”

“Go fuck yourself.” The first one spat from his horse and made off the other way.

While he was riding, Diego calmly took the bow from his quiver and attached the loose end of the string. Bows were never kept strung when not in use, Thorsten had learned from his father. Otherwise the string would become stretched and the bow lost it's power. Diego pulled the arrow to his ear until the white goose feathers tickled his chin. By now, the rider was so far off that Thorsten could not spot him anymore from where he was sitting.

Diego loosed and looked satisfied when they could hear a thump from the scout as he dropped dead off his horse. The other scout had watched the whole thing insecurely but now made haste to do as he was bid. It was only a few minutes before he came back with the bad news.

Then, they did not stop anymore. Not for anything. Diego led and they all followed. Another horse broke foot and threw it's rider, but they did not stop for that either. They could hear him scream a minute later and knew that the savages were still after them.

“Where will we go?” Thorsten asked Diego. “We cannot outrun them forever!”

“We can't fight them neither.” The scout answered in Diego's stead.

The leader of the outlaws only looked sourly, even more so now than normally.

“There is only one place where we can go if these goat fuckers don't let off.” He said. “Let's hope they don't do for us as the they would.”

-

Blue, green and yellow were the colours under the bandages. Two of her rips were broken and gave Dari agony whenever she moved. But stay in Nagash's giant hut she would not. She kept away from the giantess as much as she could which meant spending a lot of time with Steve and Christina who much preferred the same.

The two of them had been given what little of real food had been left before Lord Mannelig solved their food problems for the time being and thus never experienced the worst of hunger. But hunger had left Lauraville for the moment, as had the scarcity of tools, Dari had made sure.

Eighty head of sheep and goat, twenty kids and lambs, two casks of salt, ten casks of salt mutton, twenty hides and an abundance of bronze and copper tools had been the price of the nineteen and a half barrels of ale they delivered to Bergatroll. It was another gesture of good faith, for Mannelig hoped it would encourage Lauraville to bring him more drink for his wife. Nagash was praised by the villagers, for she had sold it as all her achievement, not mentioning Dari once. The giantess had not tried to kill her, Dari understood, just bully her and keep her down the way she had done before.

The weather was improving it seemed. The days before it had been rain, on and off, and always overcast. Today, she could feel the sun on her skin again, but still found herself unable to enjoy it for some reason. It was not the pain, but something else that was looming. That strange tingling in her neck was there again too.

Did Nagash mean to kill her, or was there another plot on behalf of the villagers? She doubted it. The night they had spent at Mannelig's even more people had run away, making the fanatics yet more dominant in the village. It was all well and good. Dari could not do anything about those that fled and livestock was surprisingly less intensive in labour than she had anticipated. Fences and stables were being planned to keep the animals from wandering off in the night and during the day, a handful of shepherds were enough to watch them as they grazed peacefully.

“Hurt?” Christina asked concerned.

“Yes. Hurt.” Dari replied through her teeth.

The language lessons were going on every day and Christina made some good advancements. Steve had advancements of his own, but that was more thanks to Hammer than Dari. Well fed and strong, the boy proved an invaluable asset to the smithy, or so the bald smith swore. Hammer was loyal, reasonable and uncomplicated, but as much as Dari liked him, she did not understand what he had found in Steve.

The boy was such an insufferable merrymaker, always making light of everything while Dari was brooding over her problems, having no one to share them with. Christina was there, sure, and they got along splendidly, but there was no way in which Dari could ever make her understand.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve sheep!” Christina pointed at the tiny herd that was driven along by the village's most enthusiastic little shepherd.

“Lord Mannelig, Lord Mannelig, why won't you marry me, for the plunder that I lay before you?” The boy sang happily.

But Lord Mannelig had not married Bergatroll for any plunder. The spineless cuckold of a lord had married her to have someone he could be a doormat to.

“Eleven sheep.” Dari corrected. “But very good.”

It did not come out as encouraging as she wanted it to. Speaking was painful as well. They needed more animals in the long run, but for that, Dari would only have to find a source of ale and wine. That was easier than pulling anymore food out of these woods, she expected, at least until new wildlife had settled in.

“Where that?” Christina asked and pointed into the distance.

“Where what?” Dari asked in reply and turned to follow her finger.

'Oh, who that?'

So that was why her neck had been tingling, she thought.

Bracing herself for the pain, she screamed: “Riders!”

Leaving a clueless Christina behind, she marched off to grab her arms. Of course, she thought, of course some damned raiders would come as soon as Janna and Laura were away. They needed Nagash now, and what ever man could fight.

Not many riders had come out of the forest yet but that did not have to mean anything. They were armed and looked like bad business.

“Drive the herds to the other side of the village, arm yourselves!” She shouted, painfully holding her ribs.

Her trusty hunting bow, quiver and spear were where she had left them and always kept them, outside of Nagash's hut in a small hole in the ground. Nagash did not allow weapons in her hut for fear of being murdered in her sleep. If Dari had wished to, she could have killed her anyway, just snuck out of the hut, retrieved the weapons and snuck back in. She didn't want that but the huge, stupid ogress didn't seem to understand that.

Commotion stirred in the village, everyone was looking for their loved ones and made sure they were save and away. Men armed with everything they could find formed up loosely in front of Nagash's hut. The giantess herself had overseen the preparation of wood for the stables and fences and came over with the wood cutters in tow.

“What is it?!” She bellowed, looking at Dari who refused to shrink before her.

“Riders.” She replied from below, pointing in to the general direction where they had seen them.

“Ha, more humans to squish!” Nagash laughed cruelly and almost walked right over Dari and three other people.

Killing the spearmen and the serving girl had clearly given her a taste and eroded any healthy respect she might have had for humans in arms.

“Come on.” Dari took command of the villagers and had them follow her.

When they arrived on the edge of the village, she saw that either no more riders had come out, or the nine of them were all they were. They had covered half the distance to the village, riding a queer, wavy line. On closer inspection, she saw that they had weapons in hand but looked as though they could barely sit in their saddles.

One horse had two people on it's back, one unconscious, the other a huge Thorwalsh with shield and axe. The animal looked as though it was close to collapsing too.

'These are no attackers.' She thought. 'These are dead men, running from something that had been on their heels for who knows how long.'

“Pah, only eight little humans!” Nagash spat and stomped forward to meet them.

She had miscounted, counting the two on one horse as only one rider.

Dari knew Nagash well enough to be certain that she was not going to exchange any pleasantries with them either. The foremost of the riders, a copper-skinned Novadi or Tulamid, had a recurved bow in his hands, short but viciously strong. If he was a good enough marksman he could put an arrow in Nagash's eye and maybe even kill her. Dari was sure that she could, given such a weapon, and that was enough to cause concern.

“Nagash, wait!” She called painfully and ran after the giantess as fast as she could.

But the giant woman's strides were energetic and huge and there was no way in hell Dari would ever keep up with her.

“Nagash!” She called again, as loud as she could.

She didn't heed her at all.

“Come on!” She urged the villagers and ran faster, in spite of the pain.

Something very odd was happening and she wasn't going to let Nagash 'squish' these men before she got to the bottom of it. When she turned to look if the villagers were following her she saw that Steve and Christina were about as well, having come to see what the commotion was all about.

“Nagash!” She called again to no avail.

“Hooo!” The leader bid his pitiful company halt.

Nagash haltet too, ten meters away from them, a mere three strides to her.

“Come to die, little human?” She asked viciously, leaving no doubt as to her intentions.

“We seek shelter!” The man replied. “We are being pursued! Please, help us!”

“Oh, I'm gonna help you, little man.” Nagash laughed and made a step forward.

The trader's pack-horses had feared Nagash to the point of rearing, but these animals seemed too tired to do even that. Even from a distance, Dari could see the helplessness on their faces. One man genuinely fell from his saddle and landed on the ground with a thud.

“Nagash, Steve and Christina are watching!” Dari called once more.

That finally made the giantess turn around and look worried. Their stalemate continued wordlessly until Dari arrived. She worried that Nagash would take it ill if she assumed control of the situation but apparently the giantess could not come up with the right words on her own. Stripped of her violence, Nagash was helpless, not always, but more often than not.

Dari notched an arrow, drew and pointed it at the leader of the group: “Throw down your weapons!”

Her ribs were screaming, though no one could hear it. The man looked at her for a moment before he dropped his bow to the ground, drew his sabre and did the same for that, his party following.

“Who are you and what do you want?” She asked, not letting go of her arrow.

“We are the Howling Wolves.” The man explained. “Or what is left of us. We are being followed by a clan of mountain men. They could be here any minute.”

Dari remembered.

“Do you know the Spear Brothers? And Dexter?” She asked. “They were raiders, like you, fleeing from you, weren't they?”

Her ribs were driving Dari sheer nuts. She wondered how she would be able to hold the string before it simply got loose and killed the raider by accident.

“Aye.” He showed as sour as a smile as it could ever be. “Dexter was a good man. Just. Cunning. What happened to him?”

“Him and his party got snatched up by one of the one hundred meter tall girls and brought here.” Dari replied. “He's dead. Killed by some giantess.”

“That is sad to hear. This giantess?” He motioned to Nagash full of anxiety.

“No. Nagash used to be one of the Spear Brothers. Tell me exactly why she shouldn't pull your head off.”

'You're a fool, Dari!' Dari cursed herself. 'Steve and Christina are not to witness any violence!'

“We have gold.” The raider said and pulled a large heavy sack out of his saddle back tossing it forward.

It landed on the ground with a sound that could only come from a wealth of coins clanging against each other. Coin that could buy mead and wine in a village or city that had not yet been abandoned.

“We'll take that.” She determined. “What else do you have?”

“I can only offer you our belongings, weapons and horses.” The man twisted uncomfortably in his saddle. “We are capable men. We offer ourselves to you.”

Dari sure did want the copper-skin's composite bow, but she did not need him alive for that. Maybe it was best to kill them and be rid of any ill they might bring.

“That one doesn't look so capable any more.” She motioned to the unconscious man, held in place in the Thorwalsh's massive arms.

On second glance, the Thorwalsh was filthy, clad in a scale shirt that looked as though it was made entirely out of rust.

'Blood.' Dari concluded a moment later. 'He is covered in dried blood!'

“That Horasian is called Léon. He is injured and ill but a good fighter. Two days past he killed a dozen savages, armed only with a florett. He can teach your people to defend themselves, I am sure. That behind him is Thorsten. He killed three dozen men, maybe more. He's unstoppable with an axe. Let him loose on your forest and you have the best tree feller you have ever known. The rest of us are capable huntsmen, scouts and what ever you need hands for.”

“And why should I let a bunch of killers into our village?” She asked pointedly.

The raiders mouth twisted into another sour smile to her surprise: “Surely a village led by the queen of killers has room for some more.”

Everyone looked as puzzled as Dari felt, including the raiders own companions.

“Hehe.” He laughed, his tiny eyes squinting. “I would invoke the codex, but I know that you do not care for that. Makes two of us.”

By the codex he could only mean the codex of Phex, god of merchants and insurers but also thieves, gamblers, burglars and the like. Before Dari's ascent to de facto queen of the Garethian underworld from orphan beggar, to thief, to burglar, to assassin, there had been many rival gangs of criminals who's behaviour amongst each other was regulated by a codex that included such rules as not to kill each other, not to steal from each other and not to overreach into each other's territory. Dari had ended all that by stealing from everybody, working in anybodies territory and ultimately killing everyone who questioned her power. After that she had had a stake in any shady business that was done in the city. In her head it sounded like someone else's life now.

She took a step forward to get a better look at the man. She did remember that square jaw from somewhere...

“Rondrahild Vapo of Shadowground.” She concluded finally. “You were one of the outlaws that attacked her father's castle as a distraction while I got in and cut off her head.”

“Aye, and a pretty head it was.” The man replied, smiling. “When patrols in the Margrave of Griffinsford became too thick on account of the giants, we fled here. And look where it brought us. What made you leave Gareth?”

'Yes, what made me leave Gareth? A fucking wizard and the impending end of the world!'

“That is a long story.” She said, grinning half as sourly as the man in front of her. “I will...”

Almost had she overstepped her bounds, but a stab of pain from her ribs reminded her. Also, she had almost let herself be lured into trusting this man, which, if she was honest, she still had no grounds to do. If truth be told, she did not really care whether they lived or died. They might be capable men like the raider had said, but then again, they might bring trouble into what had just returned to being a well functioning community.

“Nagash.” She said. “You are the forewoman. The decision is yours.”

She saw the outlaw leader swallow hard at that. The giantess looked at the raiders with obvious misgivings but also turned her head to ogle back at Christina and Steve.

She took awfully long with her decision before she said: “I will still crush these tiny wolves.”

She had just finished her first step forward before the Thorwalsh climbed off his horse and came limping towards Dari, carrying his companion with him.

“We're no Howling Wolves.” He said in the voice of a young man while Nagash already raised her foot to stomp him flat.

Unabashed, he moved on, never so much at looking at the impending doom over his head.

“Hear me out.” He said defeated. “You can still crush me afterwards.”

Nagash's foot lowered reluctantly but she still eyed the boy like some kind of bug she meant to undo.

Dari looked over to the other raiders, who all had that defeated look about them. None of them even turned to see if an escape was possible. She wondered if it was worth spending any more time on this. If each of them begged for their lives individually this would take another hour at least.

“My name is Thorsten Hafthor Olafsson of Thorwal, third son to hetman of hetmen.”

“Waste her time with long titles and she is going to make it slow.” Dari interrupted him, hinting at Nagash.

He didn't look up, nor did he kneel and beg for his life like Dari had half expected. At about two meters tall he towered over her by two and a half heads, but even though he was looking down, he did not look at her but rather at the man in his arms.

“We were captured by these raiders at Andrafall. We are not like them. We are good men.”

Covered in blood and filth he looked older than he was. This was just a boy, Dari thought. He had not even grown a full beard yet.

“Boy, did you listen to any of the conversation your leader and I just had?”

He didn't reply for a moment and just stared at his friend.

“Then at least take him.” He said defeated, but finally looked up into her eyes.

His were as blue and deep as the sea.

“He is on a quest. This is Léon Logue, looking for his brother who went missing in these parts.”

“Lionel?” The Horasian's eyes opened.

There was sweat on his brow that told of fever and his voice betrayed that he was full of mucus inside. He coughed painfully and moaned, touching his arm where it was swollen grotesquely.

“Lionel, where are we?” He asked weakly. “Are we in Havena yet?”

“He is hallucinating.” The Thorwalsh almost begged. “Please, let him get his strength back and then let him go. He needs to find his brother.”

“His brother is dead.” Dari said, looking deep into the boys eyes. “One of the one hundred meter tall girls killed him. His remains are at Ludwig's keep.”

The boy swallowed.

“Then allow him a proper funeral.” He said after re-finding his resolve.

Not waiting for a reply, he laid the smaller man down by Dari's feet and stepped in front of Nagash's.

“I'm ready.” He told her, closed his eyes and spread his arms, ready to die.

On second glance, this one seemed to have a little fever too. Nonetheless, Dari was impressed.

Nagash's foot went up again but Dari called her halt before she could kill him.

“Let those two come into the village.” She said determined. “The others take captive. Take their horses too. They will be useful.”

Horses could transport ale or wine from where ever they got it.

“I'll make sure Steve and Christina are well away.” She added to Nagash in a hushed voice. “Give me a few minutes, then crush the others. Make sure they are dead.”

Nagash had had that look of disapproval on her face at first, but when Dari told her to kill the remaining seven raiders everything appeared to be fine.

She let the limping Thorwalsh gather up his friend and took them over to the village where she had Steve and Christina join her, leading them to one of the huts that had been abandoned by it's previous owners.

“He ill?” Christina asked concerned, pointing at Léon Logue after they had put him down on a bed of straw.

“Yes. Very.” Dari said and put a wet cloth from a bucket she had had one of the women bring along onto his brow.

Steve and Christina started to discuss something in the same tongue that Janna and Laura used to converse with. Then Steve reached into the breast pocket and produced the tiny, red packet with the white cross on it, a similar one to that from which Christina had given Dari the tools to stitch up Nagash.

'He doesn't need stitching.' She wanted to say, but the boy held up what looked like a tiny glass bottle with a clear liquid inside.

The Thorwalsh gasped as Steve pulled something off the bottle to reveal a needle underneath which he rammed into the Horasian's arm. Then he squeezed his fingers and seemed to crush the glass bottle in between his fingers, the water bubbling and becoming less by the second.

“Is this magic?” Dari asked perplexed.

She did not understand how this was possible. When Steve was done, she took up the discarded bottle and squeezed it herself. It was not glass but something else entirely, flexible but sturdy nonetheless. And the needle turned out to be hollow inside, like a Mengbilar but much, much finer.

A device to inject poison, she thought for a moment, before she remembered that the red packet was for healing. That was it. A potion, a magic potion, not one for swallowing but rather for injecting directly into the vein. Maybe she had underestimated Steve and Christina after all.

Dari realigned the bones in Léons elbow the way they were meant to grow back together and had Steve make a tight linen bandage on his arm to keep them in place. After that, they took a look at Thorsten's leg wound.

It had been bandaged professionally, that much Dari could see, but not been sewn up at all. Constant movement had torn the wound larger and the seeping out of blood had prevented any healing. Worse yet, the wound had begun to fester.

They burned it out with a glowing hot knife while the Thorwalsh bit into a piece of wood to keep him from biting his own tongue. Afterwards, Dari sewed it up with the fine, clear string that she had used on Nagash as well. After some more convincing, Thorsten agreed to be given the same magic potion Léon had received and after that, they both had to swallow a tiny white thing that Christina swore would help against the pain.

“No pain. No pain.” She said, and Dari guessed that that was what she had meant.

Sure enough, two minutes later, the two newcomers were dead out cold, sleeping like rocks. Steve and Christina immediately agreed to stay with the men so Dari could go out and make her rounds. Everything seemed in order. The horses were tied up and had been given grass and water. The foundations for the stables were moving along as planned, as was the making of beams and boards.

She ordered which animals were to be butchered that evening and how much of the meat was to be salted down. Happily, she accepted the suggestion of one of the cheese makers who wanted to add nettles into the goats-milk cheese they had started to produce for a more exciting flavour.

Birsel's house was still barred up. The whores only opened their door once a day to accept food and spent the rest of the time inside, ever since Janna and Laura had disappeared. Of those two, of course, there was still no sign, but as far as Dari was concerned, since there was enough to eat again, Lauraville was better off without them. Maybe they should rename it, she thought. Maybe it should be called Dariville.

Laura would squish her for even thinking that, Dari knew, but the giant girl did not have to know. Quietly, Dari hoped that the two would never come back. This could really be a nice place, if it were allowed to be. But to the north loomed above the village, the giant metal thing that served as a constant reminder that Dari was here for something more important than country life. She sighed and moved on to the last station of her tour.

On the trampled field that had been slowly reclaimed by grass and greenery Dari could still make out where the horses had stood. Neatly aligned in a row, seven flat corpses were there, each with a meter distance to each other. Nagash really had made sure that they were dead. She had trampled all of them and all of them, from their feet all the way up to their heads. The bellies of some had burst under the pressure, those of others had not, but all their heads were broken and squashed flat. Their torsos were compressed so densely that they barely reached above the ground. Their arms and legs had snapped like twigs under Nagash's massive weight too.

Everyone except the leader had been trampled face down into the ground. But the square-jawed outlaw Nagash had done for on his back, for some reason. With his face deformed and pressed flat against the ground, the man looked even more dangerous. It had been the right decision not to let him and his companions into the village, Dari decided. After all, when Dexter had come into the village, the first thing he had done was killing the old foreman to elevate himself. No doubt this one would have been ambitious too, scheming and plotting behind Dari's back.

It would have been enough to tell Nagash some lie and it would be Dari instead of him lying here with a face almost twice as large as it ought to be. The attackers the outlaws had warned against never came. Either they had seen Nagash and decided to turn around or they had been a fabrication from the beginning. Dari would only need to ask Thorsten about it to find out.

That he was speaking the truth had been clear to Dari as soon as they had mentioned Lionel Logue. Who knew, maybe they would move on as soon as they were able to. Or maybe, if they were unlucky, Laura and Janna would come back before that and no one could know what would happen then.

If they ever returned, that was.