Between Tree and Sharptooth, they were soon following the trail left by the remaining six Blood Fiends. It wasn’t clear to Ashlyn why half of the creatures had intercepted them, and the other half continued. Nor did she have a clue where the Fiends were heading to. The wounds she had received in the battle pained her, and she grew tired. It was enough of an effort to keep to the pace the scout set, never mind thinking about such things.

  She was relieved when Tree called a halt for the night. It was not yet dark, but there were several jobs that needed doing. Wilson dealt with Sharptooth, while Tree gave out camp tasks.

  “You two,” he said, indicating Ashlyn and Georg, “must get your rest now. We’ll set up camp and sort out the night watches. You need to heal if you’re going to be of any use on the rest of the mission.”

  Neither of them argued. Ashlyn shoved some rations down her throat then lay down under a tree next to the Hargon warrior. She pulled her cloak tight: the nights were still cold this time of year. Utter exhaustion helped her to drift off.

  She woke early to find she had healed 2 hit points, putting her on 11. She’d also regained an action point. But it wasn’t enough to put her in the front rank when it came to a fight. She felt a strange mix of disappointment and relief at that.

  She joined the other early risers by the fire. Tree was in the middle of his stretches and exercises, a routine she’d noticed he stuck to wherever he was. “You reckon we’ll catch them today?” she asked him.

  “We’ll have to be quick. It may be that Sharptooth and I will need to go ahead of the rest of you.”

  “Why did The Explorer not come with us?” Fortune demanded. “He would have been more than a small help.” His morning routine was quite different. He broke his fast and drank from a flask—something alcoholic, Ashlyn was sure.

  “He doesn’t like killink, remember,” Ashlyn said, doing a serviceable impression of her friend.

  It brought a few smiles to her companions.

  “I’ve heard him say so, more than once,” Fortune admitted. “Has anyone ever suggested he may be in the wrong line of work?”

  “Yes. But it’s not just that. Mila is staying in Mer Khazer.”

  “Ah,” Fortune acknowledged. “If she were my girl, I wouldn’t be letting her out of my sight, either.” He frowned over at Tree. “Now what are you doing, man? You’re giving me a headache.”

  Tree was standing on one leg. His other leg was bent, the foot pressing against the inner thigh of his standing leg. His hands were pressed together, as if in prayer. “This position is how I got my nickname,” the Hargon scout answered. “It’s called the Tree pose.”

  “Here I was thinking it was because you’re a lanky bastard,” said Wilson, joining them at the fire. Sharptooth followed him, and slumped so close to the flames that Ashlyn feared his dark fur would catch alight.

  Henning smiled. “A mixture of the two, I grant you.” His foot came down, and he stretched out his shoulders with a satisfied sigh. “Right. Time we were off. Whose turn is it to wake Mary?”

  Everyone stared at the ground.

  Tree and Sharptooth did indeed scout ahead of the main party. The rest simply followed behind, doing their best to limit the noise they made.

  “Looks like we’re heading for that barrow,” Fortune commented. “The one with the trolls.”

  Ashlyn knew it to be true. She’d been to the fourth barrow twice before, and was somewhat familiar with the route; and there was no other landmark of note in the empty landscape. What she didn’t know was why the Blood Fiends would retreat this way.

  The steep slope one had to climb to reach the barrow came into view. At its beginning, Tree stood waiting for them. He rested a hand on Sharptooth’s back, as if to dissuade the young warg from doing something foolish.

  They stopped before him, most of them breathing hard from their exertions. Walking such a distance in armour, carrying weapons and shields, was hardly a pleasure.

  “Did you want the good news or the bad news?” the scout asked.

  “Just spit it out,” Twerk demanded, glaring at Tree’s hand.

  “They’re the other side of this rise—gathered outside the barrow. There’s the six we’re chasing, and another four.”

  “Ten,” Twerk said, as if for everyone’s benefit.

  “Yeah. Ten Blood Fiends. And four Roc birds.”

  The others gasped.

  “What?” Ashlyn asked. “What are Roc birds?”

  Tree smirked. “Come and see for yourself.”

  They clambered up the slope. The tension in the group told Ashlyn she should expect to see something worse than trolls. When she reached the rise, she struggled to process what her eyes were trying to tell her.

  The four birds were massive—larger than she could have imagined. She had heard tales of dragons, and she supposed that the creatures she could see were not much larger than the stories said dragons were. But birds didn’t grow this big. Birds built nests in trees, or amongst the gorse; they caught fish from rivers. These things couldn’t be birds.

  Except, apart from their size, they looked just like raptors. Their feathers were white and tawny, their wingspan massive. The Blood Fiends had fixed seats to the Rocs’ mantles, tied with heavy looking rope. The seats were just behind the birds’ heads, where a ferocious looking beak could easily rip apart a Fiend in seconds. The Fiends must have domesticated these creatures, Ashlyn supposed. Which made them far more sophisticated than she had assumed until now.

  “Well?” Mental hissed. “We either give up or attack. What’s it to be?”

  Pecs rolled his neck. “I’m not ready to take a failure on this mission.”

  “Fancy trying your pike out on one of those birds, do ya?” Mental asked him.

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  The big man grinned. “I suppose so. There are worse ways to go down.”

  “Remember your injuries, my friend,” The Hoffmeister suggested.

  Pecs was on 14 hit points, only just above half his natural total. “True. I’ll be careful.”

  “Very well,” Tree said. “Let me take advantage of our position here and fire some arrows. Before you all go charging down there to your probable doom.”

  No one argued, and the scout readied his bow and arrows.

  Ashlyn considered it a shame that they only had the one archer. Missiles, it seemed, was their one advantage. She imagined Christoph here, readying his arrows with a serious expression. She forced the image aside. He’s gone, you fool, she told herself.

  ACTION ROUND

  Tree targeted the nearest Blood Fiend. After a few sighters, he hit his target on his fourth action, inflicting a modest 6 points of damage. His next shot was better, taking it down to 7. Then he missed, in what felt like an underwhelming opening to the fight.

  The giant birds screeched in response, turning their heads to the ridge. Their eyes were huge and their gaze pitiless.

  She and Mental stayed on the ridge, figuring it was a secure place to fight from.

  That gave the initiative to the Fiends, who did something unexpected. All of them clambered onto the back of a Roc, clawed hands gripping ropes. All but the Fiend Tree had shot, got into position. The birds then beat their long wings, running on their spindly legs, as they built the power needed to lift themselves and their riders into the sky. By turn end, three of the four Rocs were airborne.

  Tree adjusted his target to one of the Rocs. Although it was moving in the air, the Roc presented a huge target for the scout. Its huge hit point total made it hard to kill; but its lack of protection, a necessity for a light frame, made it vulnerable. The scout’s three successful shots dropped it to 39 hit points.

  Mental had clearly had enough of standing and observing. She ran down the bank towards the still grounded Roc. She reached the injured Blood Fiend after four actions, finishing it with the first blow from her battle-axe. She charged the Roc, screaming in frustration when the bird danced away from her lengthy axe swing.

  With only three action points to use per turn, Ashlyn didn’t see the point in chasing after Mary. Nor did any of the others. Except Fortune, who was probably hoping to see Blueblade light up. He reached the Roc fast enough to launch one sword swing. The pommel remained dull, and his slash narrowly missed.

  Now the wounded Fiend was dead, the grounded Roc only had one passenger. It lifted itself into the air, away from the reach of axe or sword.

  The Roc wounded by Tree’s arrows, banked, then flew away to the north. The other two, with no such concerns, went on the attack. The first rose higher, then suddenly dropped. Its weight meant it came down for those on the ridge at a shocking speed. Ashlyn had no time to think, throwing herself down the slope to avoid being shredded by beak or talon.

  As it closed on them it fixed on Sharptooth, aiming to grab the warg in its iron claws. The warg was agile enough to skip aside at the last moment, those talons inches away from ripping his side open.

  The second Roc went for Mental and Fortune. It dove with the same speed, slashing reaction times. Mental stood her ground, blocking its beak with the haft of her axe. Its talons scraped across her leg, drawing blood and taking 2 hit points. Then the Roc was past them, working hard to rise again, the Blood Fiends on its back mere passengers.

  It took Tree an action to recover from the Roc attack. He scored with three of his shots, dealing 27 damage to the giant bird that had attacked them.

  All the rest of the squad could do was set and wait for another attack, hoping they could land a blow as one of the birds came for them.

  Just like the first, the wounded Roc—or its riders, Ashlyn couldn’t tell—changed course for the north, not risking greater injury. That left two of them still engaged in the battle.

  The first swooped down, locked on Tree—understandable, since he was the only real threat to them.

  Ashlyn swung Greenblade and missed. Twerk was too far away. Sharptooth wisely restricted himself to a bark. The Hoffmeister thrust out with the Spear of Riposte, the blade carving a bloody gouge into the great bird’s chest for 22 damage. Pecs tried the same, but got his timing wrong.

  Meanwhile, the Roc caught the scout with its serrated beak, dealing an instant 3 points of damage. But worse than that, it rose back into the sky, Henning still trapped. It crunched bone with its beak, and tore with its talons, cutting him down to 16 hit points.

  He yanked himself free, the serrated beak ripping flesh, then fell to the ground, contracting a further 5 damage. His bow landed close by, snapped in two.

  The other Roc went for Mental. She roared in defiance as her berserker nature took over, refusing to give ground. Somehow, she got in two strikes of her axe as it closed on her, the second catching it full on and causing a massive 33 points of damage.

  As Fortune swung and missed, the Roc slashed Mental with beak and talons, inflicting 3 damage.

  The last two Rocs, both badly injured by The Hoffmeister and Mental respectively, followed the other two in retreat. Their giant forms shrank in the sky as they made their escape.

  Ashlyn helped Tree to his feet. “Nothing broken?”

  “Just my arm.”

  “Oh. You gonna use that potion?”

  “Not likely. That’s for when someone’s on death’s door. I’ll recover. But I’ll take some help setting it, if you’re up to that?”

  “Of course.”

  The group on the ridge made their way down, where Fortune waited for them. Mental paced around, muttering darkly, still in the grip of her battle rage.

  Twerk, Fortune, and Pecs, entered the barrow while Ashlyn and the others waited outside. Their inspection was brief.

  “Just bones,” the gnome declared. “Some of them troll bones, I reckon.”

  “So, they flew here on their giant birds, took the barrow, then attacked Mer Khazer,” Ashlyn said. “Why?”

  “Could be nothing more than a raid, for flesh and whatever else Blood Fiends are after,” Tree suggested. “Testing the region out. I reckon they found our defences too tough, hence the decision to fly away. Those Rocs give them a massive radius in which to operate. But it looks like they’re heading due north. Very mountainous there. The kind of territory you might expect to find a Roc nest.”

  “So, we failed?” The Hoffmeister asked.

  “We killed a few,” said the scout. “But we didn’t eradicate them. So yeah. Mission failure, I’m afraid.”

  “Unless we go after them?” Pecs suggested.

  Tree puffed out his cheeks. “Slim chance of finding them. I can’t track them. I’ve lost my bow. Probably not the sensible choice.”

  “I’m still up for it,” Ashlyn said. The Blood Fiends, and surely the Rocs as well, were monsters. It was the kind of enemy Greenblade was made for.

  “Aye,” Fortune agreed. “Could be we find something in those mountains that’s scared of Blueblade.”

  Ashlyn thought Eddie was developing an obsession. But he agreed with her, so she let it go.

  “Sharptooth could do with the extra training,” said Wilson. “And the exercise is good for him.”

  Tree looked around, surprised at the response of his squad mates. “Very well. We can give it a try. It’ll certainly be a nice little test for me. So long as you all understand my chances of finding them again are slim.”

  Pecs slapped him on the back. “We have faith. Someone’s got to explore those northern parts eventually. Why not us?”

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