Two days had passed since the attack on the village of Arretheart. Thanks to the heavy storm and the nearly constant rain, the healer had been able to hide her tracks. However, the orcs pursuing her had a sense of smell nearly as sharp as bloodhounds.

  She was now running through a muddy swamp, within a small grove of trees. She was already close to Hobbaristal and would have reached it sooner, had the direct path not been blocked by a large number of invading green-skins. Her only option was to continue straight toward Doknar.

  Her lungs burned like fire, and sweat dripped from her forehead, despite her decent physical condition. The evening was gray, with a faint but freezing drizzle. Thunder drowned out all other sounds, but from time to time, she could still hear the curses and shouts of the orcs—closer with every passing minute.

  She slipped in the mud and fell face-first to the ground, shielding the baby with her body. She cursed inwardly, got up with difficulty, and kept running.

  “Please, Leiorus… help me…” she whispered in desperation.

  The baby began to cry.

  A bolt struck one of the trees, making her instinctively glance back. At least four orcs were pursuing her now, and they had nearly caught up.

  “There’s the bitch!” shouted one of them, reloading his crossbow.

  Sheer willpower took hold of the healer’s body. Despite her exhaustion and pain, she resumed her frantic sprint. She knew the orcs could see relatively well in the dark, so hiding in the shadows wasn’t a valid option. Besides, their sense of smell was razor-sharp.

  No. She could only run. And so she did—even when a bolt pierced her back, burying itself in her flesh and sending a wave of searing pain through her. But she didn’t stop. She tasted the salty, metallic flavor of blood in her mouth and couldn’t help but spit out a mouthful of it to clear her throat.

  The trees began to open up, and almost immediately she reached a solid path—one of the many secondary roads leading to Doknar. A popular saying crossed her mind: “Trabarioth may be the largest city, but all roads lead to Doknar.”

  Her heart filled with hope when she saw a cart approaching, its lantern lit, just a few meters away. She stepped into the middle of the road, one hand outstretched, the other holding the baby.

  The cart came to an abrupt halt, making the two horses rear back with a neigh.

  “Whoa there, girl! I almost ran you over!” said the man driving the cart.

  He was a massive, older man with a prominent mustache, a leather coat, and a wide-brimmed hat that revealed his artistic nature.

  “Are you okay? What are you doing out here in the middle of the field in this weather, and with a child in your arms?”

  “Orcs…” the healer said, panting. “You have to help me. Take me to Doknar, but get me out of here quickly.”

  “By Leiorus’s beard, orcs you say? It’s been years since this part of Dorlan has seen those creatures… Last time was when they tried to take Doknar, and we all know how that ended… Now they’re either slaves or worse…”

  “Rasmen, what’s going on?”

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  The healer saw a middle-aged woman peek out from the door of the wagon. She had chestnut hair tied back and hazel eyes. Next to her stood a young woman who looked just about to enter adulthood, with the same colored hair but darker skin.

  The wagon was wooden, covered in paintings of laughing people and harlequin masks.

  “A girl, Elizabeth… a girl on the road…”

  “There’s no time to lose!” the healer interrupted, stepping toward the man.

  However, Elizabeth’s voice stopped her cold.

  “Hold it right there, young lady!” the woman said, pointing a crossbow at her. “This isn’t the first time someone’s tried to rob us with this kind of act, but you know what? We’re actors, and we can spot a bad performance when we see one.”

  “Mom, please, she’s carrying a baby,” the young woman said, tugging on her mother’s arm.

  “Quiet! The adults are talking.”

  Suddenly, a roar coming from the trees interrupted the moment. From the darkness, the orcs emerged.

  The first bolt struck the wooden wagon, making a sound like a stone hitting a plank.

  However, the second bolt struck directly against Elizabeth’s face, causing her to stumble and fire her crossbow reflexively.

  “Elizabeth, no!” shouted the man, desperately climbing down from the cart and drawing a dagger.

  “Mama!” cried the girl, hugging her mother’s body, which, with the arrow still in her cheek, began convulsing and foaming at the mouth.

  “Bastards!” The performer launched himself furiously at the orcs.

  The healer set the baby down on the ground for a moment and began to unfasten the horses. She turned her head, just in time to see the man beheaded by a green-skinned brute. She shouted to the girl and motioned for her to follow.

  Rasmen and Elizabeth’s daughter, mustering all her willpower, stood up and ran to where the healer was, helping her free the horses.

  “Come on, get in,” said the woman, holding the baby in one arm and extending her hand to the girl.

  But before she could set a foot on the stirrup, an arrow pierced the back of the young girl’s neck, emerging through her throat and spraying blood onto the baby’s face.

  “By Leiorus! Hyah!”

  Without wasting a second, the woman snapped the reins, and the horse immediately broke into a frenzied gallop. She looked back and saw the orcs finishing off the poor family of performers, who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  She couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of guilt. After all, just minutes earlier, she had cried out to Leiorus for help, and apparently, he had answered. Of course, the price had been paid by innocent people.

  She felt a bite in her back and saw the tip of a bolt protrude from her chest, stopping just a hand’s length from the baby’s face. She clenched her teeth, now red from the blood that wouldn’t stop pouring from her mouth, and she used all her strength to pull out the tip to avoid hurting the child.

  “Oh, gods!” she cried out in pain.

  Despite everything, she felt a deep sense of relief once she lost sight of those ominous, savage beasts from hell. Now the road to Doknar would be much calmer.

  At last, at dawn, she spotted the Sky Mountains outlined sharply against the stormy, leaden sky. Right at their base, she saw the City of Wolves, with the massive Steelhart Castle in the background, built of white stone and bluish tiles, with tall towers and green flags bearing a wolf at the center, fluttering majestically in the morning breeze.

  Its huge, symmetrical walls made clear why the city had never been conquered, not even since its beginnings as a small fort and Trabarioth outpost over five hundred years ago.

  “Doknar…” she whispered with a bloodstained smile, swaying slightly from the dizziness.

  She knew she didn’t have much time left, but she wasn’t going to leave just yet — at least not without first getting the baby to safety. The baby who had grown suddenly in her womb and been born in a night of lightning. Something told her that this child would be crucial, at the very least, to the kingdom’s fate.

  “Well, little one. Let’s get you to safety once and for all. Mama’s a bit tired… and a little cold.”

  She flicked the reins, and the horse began to gallop toward Doknar, quickly and decisively, passing by the outermost farms and taking the main stone road that led to the great gate.