They noticed the looting had ended. They couldn’t tell whether hours or minutes had passed, as the adrenaline coursing through their bodies warped their perception—sharpening their senses but distorting their sense of time. They saw groups of orcs pass by, carrying supplies such as barrels or crates. Others passed with corpses slung over their shoulders. At first, they didn’t understand why, but then they realized they were preparing to impale everyone who had fallen in Rivero, surely to leave their mark of terror.

  “It’s a stroke of luck they haven’t spotted us yet,” Begryn suddenly said. They began to notice a light drizzle falling. “But if we stay here, they’ll find us.”

  “The way’s clear now,” said Galfrido, peering out from between the crates, straw, and filth. “If we make it to the river, we might find some place to hide. Orcs hate the water—it’ll give us an edge.”

  “Alright… let’s follow this path to the watermill. From there, it’ll be easier to skirt the river.”

  “Agreed.” They advanced quickly and silently toward the mill, moving with urgency from one cover to the next, sheltered mostly by trees. The sun had already risen, but thanks to the smoke and the clouds, the air still hung in gloom.

  At last, they reached the watermill. Of all the buildings, it was the one still most intact. Only a few arrows stuck in its walls and a small charred section opposite the river, with some signs of blows. They were about to enter when they heard noises inside. They froze to the side, holding their breath. Through the front door stepped two dark warriors, as large as Galfrido, helmets fastened.

  They remained motionless for a few seconds, taking in the destruction and the impaled bodies of Rivero’s townsfolk. Barely two meters away, Begryn and Galfrido crouched behind a mound of straw and some planks, praying the warriors wouldn’t turn their heads. If they did, they were finished. Galfrido slowly moved his hand toward the hilt of his dagger, while Begryn tightened her grip on her machete, ready to draw it.

  Suddenly, a horn sounded. The two dark warriors exchanged glances and moved off toward the village. Begryn and Galfrido exhaled heavily, releasing all the tension that had gripped them until that moment. At last, they slipped into the interior of the mill, seeing it as the most convenient place to take shelter while the army moved away, since, if things went badly, it still gave them the chance to leap into the river.

  The sun had fully risen, though they couldn’t see it through the thick clouds. The fine drizzle didn’t stop falling, chilling their bones and beginning to turn into snow. Crows were feasting on the impaled corpses scattered throughout the village, so the air was filled with nothing but their cawing.

  “We got lucky,” said Galfrido. “This was only a small fraction of Faradax’s army. And they didn’t linger… just destroyed what they could in passing and kept on their way. I’m certain it was only the vanguard. If they’d stayed any longer, they would have found us sooner or later.”

  “We got lucky. Those poor bastards didn’t,” Begryn replied, pointing at the impaled bodies now being picked apart by scavengers. Through the gaps between the planks of the mill, they could see the whole scene.

  “I saw some people manage to escape. I don’t think the orcs chased them. The army was in a hurry. Maybe, if Kalen and Anthos are coming from the east, they’ll see them crossing the Epsilia bridge.”

  “Epsilia will fall to the flames as well.” Pressing his lips together, Galfrido nodded. “The invasion of Trabarioth is a certainty.”

  After a few hours, they confirmed there were no orcs left in the area. If that had been the army’s vanguard, the main force would probably pass through later, but they certainly wouldn’t stop. That was the point of the vanguard: to clear the way so the main body wouldn’t have to pause. The advance moved much faster that way. From his years of service, Galfrido was well aware of this.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  When they were sure, they approached what remained of Rivero. Houses, trees, and buildings had been reduced to ashes, with fires still burning in many places. Around Rivero, hundreds of people had been impaled in grotesque ways, being picked at by crows and wild dogs that had scented blood and death. Galfrido couldn’t help but shed tears when he saw a small child, dead beside his mother, who lay headless in a defensive posture—surely killed trying to protect the little one, in vain. Once again, the burly warrior felt that sense of helplessness that had been dogging him for days.

  “We did nothing…” he said, his voice breaking.

  “There was nothing we could have done, Gal,” Begryn said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If we had attacked, we’d be the ones impaled now, feeding the crows.”

  “This is the second time I feel completely useless. I couldn’t go with my friends, I couldn’t protect the townsfolk…”

  “Hey!” the elf exclaimed, taking the warrior’s face in both hands. She could see him streaked with ash and dried blood. “If you hadn’t been here, I’d probably be dead. Between the two of us we protected each other and escaped the wave of destruction… you’re not useless. You’re everything a person needs from a friend, do you understand that?”

  Even with his brows drawn and eyes wet with tears, the warrior nodded. “All right… Now help me look for provisions, if there are any left, and let’s wait for our friends. When they see the village, they’ll think we perished with it.”

  “Begryn…” The elf paused, and when she looked at her friend, she saw enormous determination on his face. “I won’t stand aside in a fight like that again. Even if it costs me my life. You understand?”

  “I know, big man,” she replied with a smile, though she wasn’t entirely sure.

  Dusk found them inside the mill, where they had made a fire to warm themselves. They were confident they were no longer in immediate danger, but just in case they kept camp under cover, away from unwanted eyes.

  Begryn couldn’t get Faradax’s face out of her head. He seemed invincible—someone feared even by his own people, a scourge that had been devastating the free realms long before any of them were born. Galfrido, meanwhile, sat staring into the fire with a distant look, remembering the orc chief.

  “Seems ironic…” he said without blinking.

  “Ironic how?” she asked.

  “Djarak… that son of a bitch who led the vanguard, barking orders in every direction.”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, we have a history, you know? It didn’t end well between us.” He turned his head and smiled. “I nearly tore his head off.”

  “I’m confused… where do you know that damned drone from?”

  “I was on a protection job, along with Kalen and a few others. This merchant—an important man from Dumora, out on Sapphire Isle—needed someone to find his son, who’d gone missing while trading in the Ruins Market in Bloodmere. He offered a large donation to the Order of Reidos so Kalen would take the case, and, well… a tidy payment for me.” He paused to take a sip of water.

  “When we reached Black Port, we had some trouble with orcs, but nothing out of the ordinary. There’s always that animosity between races. Normal stuff. Have you ever been to Black Port?”

  “Thank Mistilanya, no.” The elf shuddered at the thought of a harbor ruled by orcs.

  “Well… the place is huge. Like Sidon’s port in Doknar, but with taller structures, pulley systems, and all sorts of gears. You wouldn’t believe the engineering there, even run by orcs. And it’s no accident—lots of dwarves live in Black Port and trade from Núvodas. It’s no surprise they helped improve the infrastructure. Anyway… we were in Black Port when a big stir broke out over a famous orc: Djarak. They were offering some hundred gold crowns to anyone who’d dare challenge him in the arena. Can you imagine? A hundred crowns! That’s three years’ pay as a city guard.”

  “Don’t tell me you challenged him in the arena.”

  “I went and challenged him in the arena—hand to hand. No weapons.” He shrugged at the last bit. “And well… the rest is history. Near the end of the fight, I smashed his face against a stone, to the stunned silence of those watching. The bastards in the stands wanted blood, but I didn’t give it to them. That day I spared Djarak’s life.”

  “Full of stories, aren’t you, colleague?” Begryn said, eyes wide as she shook her head.

  The warrior rewarded her with a smile.