“I will bring Cob, Trout, and Miru. Everyone else will stay here and keep my seat warm, so to speak.” Brack spoke over his shoulder to the group as he packed away his necessities.

“And what do you mean by that?” Bryan rubbed the skin around his horns soothingly and breathed deeply.

“He means don’t fuck anything up, you twat.” Robin sneered at him.

“Hey, let’s try to be civil here.” Cob tugged on his beard and looked reprimanding at Robin, then to Brack. “But I must say chief. This seems like a bad plan. One poorly planned.”

“That is as may be, but I must communicate the plan to everyone nonetheless.” Brack tucked his accounts book into a leather bag. “Gunnar, you will ingratiate yourself with Olga. Be a loyal guard, and learn everything you can.”

Gunnar nodded absently as he bit into a peach, careful not to get its juice on his white gambeson.

Brack turned to the small crowd of people sitting in his office. They sat in small, armless chairs or else leaned against oak shelves. The red carpet gave the place a homely feel.

“Bryan, you will take my place until I return. You will learn everyone’s name and what they want. Do not give it to them unless they will give you something greater in return. And when I say great, I don’t mean a pretty whore. I mean money, or power.”

Bryan scoffed but said nothing.

“Robin, you will guide him. I give you the power to reverse his decisions or make them for him, although try not to make a fool of him, that won’t help anyone.”

Robin nodded seriously to Brack but couldn’t resist giving Bryan a smug look as he turned.

“The rest will follow me back to Dreanar. If we ride hard with minimal breaks it should take the four of us a few days. It’s all quite simple.” Brack seemed almost bored as he handed his bag to Cob and left the room.

“Chief, I still have a few questions. Well, one really.” Cob hurried to follow Brack out of the door. “Why are we leaving in such a hurry? I thought our affairs were in order when we left.”

“Are they following?” Brack said without looking back.

Cob turned and saw that Trout and Miru were following a fair distance behind them. They already had their belongings packed.

“Yes.”

Brack sighed and glanced at Cob. “Do you remember when Nyal first showed us through that window? Into that crater.”

“Yes, like it was yesterday.”

“When I went to the place where you… fell, in the woods. I couldn’t help but remember that place in the window. In fact, I have slowly come to realise that they are exactly the same place.”

“So, Nyal opened the window into that crater. Why is that important?”

“It’s important Cob because…” Brack looked at Cob again, with the look of a man wary of incoming ridicule. “Because there were trees. Visible from within the crater. All you could see out of it was forest. And I remember, distinctly, that there were no trees when we looked through the window. You could bloody see the mountains in the distance for the Mother’s sake. That is why we are going. To ask Nyal and to get things straight in Vigir.”

Cob nodded silently and fell back with the others.

When they asked what had been said he whispered that Brack had told him nothing.

**********

They slowed their horses to a trot, and then to a stop. Even this close to the city, bandits felt safe doing their business in broad daylight. Harold’s reign had left the land weak, and brutal.

“We don’t want no trouble now.” The head bandit was thin and shifty. He wore the soiled clothes of a nobleman. “But we’ll give it to you if you act dumb.”

Ten bandits surrounded them in a loose circle. They held crude weapons with untrained hands. Most of them avoided Brack’s gaze or else stared at him blankly. They were hungry and poor, not evil.

“That’s fine. Everybody get off of your horses, calmly.” Brack held out his hands placatingly and slowly dismounted, followed by Miru and Cob.

Trout looked around desperately and grabbed a spiked flail from his saddlebag. He slapped his horse's flank and swung the flail in a wide circle as he lurched toward the bandits. “Move!”.

The bandits leapt out of the way as he broke through their line. He galloped down the road and disappeared around a sharp turn.

“Cowards.” The lead man spat at the two scrambling bandits and ordered the rest to confiscate the horses. “You were supposed to stand in front of them no matter what. Stand up and get back in line. Everyone else, empty the saddlebags.”

Brack held his hands up and bowed his head submissively. “I apologise for him. And to your luck, I didn’t trust him to hold our valuables anyway. Nothing lost except a fool.”

“Drop your weapons.” The leader shuffled forwards hesitantly and held out his hand to Brack, who dropped his small axe into it without a qualm. Cob pulled his great sword from its sheath on his belt and tossed it to the ground. Miru, with a sullen roll of her eyes, dropped several daggers from her belt and from the hidden pockets within her blue gambeson.

“Search their horses.” The leader looked around quickly and tucked Brack’s axe into his belt. He reached with his other hand to shake Brack’s. “I’m sorry for all this. But we gotta feed our kids somehow, right?” He chuckled awkwardly. “The name’s Hedwin.”

Brack shook his hand. “Hello Hedwin. I am Brack. The big one’s Cob and the little one is Miru.”

They both waved at him. Cob sincerely, Miru less so.

“At the end of the day this is just spreading wealth to those who need it the most. I harbour no hard feelings against you and your people.” Brack said.

Hedwin looked at Brack speechlessly, stunned at his kindness.

A bandit, bald as a baby’s backside and as lean as his master, walked up to them. “Boss, we got everything. Let’s go.”

“Alright. We shan’t waste any more of your time. Again I’m-“

“Wait.” Brack gave a disbelieving grin and looked back at Cob and Miru. “Can you hear that?”

Miru gave a small, hungry smile. Cob grimaced.

Brack looked at the trees briefly and then stared at Hedwin. “Stay still. If you strain you can hear.”

“What?” Hedwin stilled and listened hard. The other bandits took notice and did the same. Everything was still, an expectant tension filled the air.

Brack slowly raised his arm, as if to signal something. He looked intensely at Hedwin. “Can you hear anything?”

Hedwin shook his head.

“Me neither.” Brack closed his fist.

Something thin and sharp slammed into baldies head, knocking him limply to the ground. Miru swung herself around violently and gave a hoarse shout. Hidden knives shot from her sleeves and found home in the throats of the two bandits holding onto her horse. Brack grabbed Hedwin’s shoulders and slammed his horns into his face, reducing it to a bloody smear. Another arrow slammed into a fleeing bandit. Trout walked from the darkness of the trees; his longbow knocked with yet another arrow.

“Stop. They’re fleeing!” Cob roared.

The five bandits that were left ran shamelessly away, leaving their loot behind. Most ran into the trees, but one ran down the road in a straight line.

“Come on. I have to get that one. He’s practically begging for it!” Trout laughed and aimed his longbow. He bit his lower lip and closed his left eye, aiming carefully.

“Don’t. Let him go.” Cob glowered.

“Woops.” Trout said innocently before releasing the arrow. The arrow flew straight and true, hitting its target in the upper back. Killing the running bandit instantly.

Miru looked up from pulling out her daggers. “Good shot.”

“Thanks.” Trout walked to baldie and looked askance at Cob as he retrieved his arrow. “Cob, you aren’t really angry, are you? I’m sorry if I offended with my display of skill.”

Cob looked away angrily. “I just thought we were good is all. Good people don’t shoot down other people when they’re running away.”

Brack took a deep breath and stood in front of Cob. “Brother, It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Morality will only weigh us down here. There is a time and place for being the good person.”

Cob refused to look at him. “Let’s go. We needn’t be here any longer.”

**********

“That’s strange. The drawbridge shouldn’t be down.” Brack squinted and saw a small crowd on the other side of the drawbridge. They looked like they were setting something up, many small objects in a straight line opposite the drawbrige.

The entrance to Vigir was grand. A yawning cavern held wooden buildings that facilitated the comings and goings of thousands of visitors every day, although for some reason it was deserted. In front of the sprawling mass of buildings was a large, grassy field. The field held hundreds of wagons in organised rows, optimised for loading and departure. In front of the field, a wide river cut into the earth. It raged and churned within a deep valley, leaving a sheer drop to anything unlucky enough to fall over the waist-high wall that girded the edge. The river curved so as to cut off the field from the surrounding land, making a natural moat formation. A large drawbridge stretched across the gap, sitting at the foot of the well-worn stone road that led to the rest of the world. The drawbridge was large and had solid stone railings,

From a closer view, Brack could see what was happening. In front of the drawbridge, along the edge of the ravine, hundreds of Sigrundyr were setting up metal trays of blue liquid. It appeared as if they were already finishing up. Most of them were standing around, talking excitedly and shivering in the cold. Nyal stood at the entrance to the bridge and was talking to a stocky man wearing a strange, thick coat. They both looked surprised as they saw Brack’s crew cautiously cross the bridge.

Nyal talked hurriedly to the man and ran to meet them, the stocky fellow in tow. “You’re here just in time!” Nyal looked flustered as he came to a stop mid-way down the drawbridge.

Brack reined in his horse and dismounted. “What is this Nyal? Who is he?” Brack pointed to the short man.

Nyal pointed to him as if to make sure that was the main being referred to. “Him? He’s Batzorig.”

“Hello.” Batzorig said in a deep, guttural voice. His accent was strange, unlike anything Brack had heard before. He wore a coat made of some animal skin, it was covered in pockets and straps of strange-looking materials and trinkets. His head was bald except for two long strands of hair on the side of his head, which were braided and twined with silver wire. “I have learned much about you. This place.” Batzorig looked around happily. His skin was ruddy and pale, and his eyes were flat and narrowed at the outer edges. He looked rather charming, and wore the perpetual smile of a simpleton. Although, his words made him seem sharp. Frighteningly sharp. “I have learned your language. Learned your ways. My people will enjoy fighting you. Perhaps your women will breed well too.” He laughed as if at a well-landed joke. Only Nyal smiled, and barely. Brack noticed the hilt of a sword sheathed within his heavily padded coat.

“Nyal!” Brack took a few defensive steps back and pulled out his axe. Behind him, Cob dismounted and drew his greatsword. Miru and Trout held back on their horses and watched for a rear ambush.

“Wait wait wait.” Nyal waved his hands and pointed to the metal trays. He wore the smile of someone pointing out a beautiful sunrise to his friends. He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “It’s about to begin. How exciting!”

A Sigrundyr stood in front of each tray, each looking carefully at the liquid inside and at the person next to them. In practiced unison, they all took a small object out of their white coats and held it in the air. They then threw the object into the tray and hurriedly stepped back. Each tray spouted a thin column of purple flame. Brack recognised the familiar patterns that formed as the red mist coalesced into a clear window into another world. Another place, bare of anything.

People poured through the openings in straight, controlled lines. Men and women wearing bizarre armour carrying even more bizarre weapons. As they walked from the windows they looked around like little children seeing the outside for the first time. Hundreds of them spewed out, thousands.

Fear gripped Brack by its cold fingers. His mind refused to see what his eyes were seeing. “But nothing can go through…” He said lamely.

Nyal looked back at him curiously, seemingly having forgotten his presence. “Oh yes, that trick with Llewelyn. Loyal fellow, isn’t he? Chopping off his own fingers just because I asked. A bit weird though. Anyway, how did you like the show? It took a long time to plan, but I think it was worth it.”

Brack turned slowly to Cob and shook his head. Cob had never seen him so afraid.

“What should be done with them, Jigkahn?” Batzorig looked at Nyal and calmly placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I hoped it would be more exciting than this, but needs be as needs must. Have your fun Batzorig.” Nyal’s smile turned vicious. Someone seeing their plans of evil and deceit fall neatly into place.

With an almost hypnotic grace, Batzorig unsheathed his sword and stepped towards Brack. His blade was curved and shined brilliantly in the light of a sun wholly foreign to it. With a slight turn and a precise pushing movement, Batzorig sliced into Brack’s neck and cut off his head.

Cob roared with grief and rage as he ran towards them. Batzorig grabbed Brack’s head as it flew off his neck and threw it at Cob. Cob came to a sliding halt as he frantically tried to avoid disrespecting his master's decapitated head. As Cob attempted to catch the head and place it down respectfully, Batzorig procured a small sling from one of his pockets. He placed a small red ball into the sling and took aim.

As Cob placed the head into the middle of the bridge, carefully avoiding looking at its face, he saw Trout and Miru. They had pulled back and were watching the scene with horrified awe. Cob Shouted to them as he turned defensively towards Batzorig.

“Help me you-!“

Suddenly, his left side blossomed into a ball of violent red flame that sent his arm flying high into the air. The blast slammed him into the stone railing of the drawbridge with enough force to send him flying limply over the side. It happened within less than two seconds.

Miru and Trout galloped away as Cob’s body hit the churning waters below.