When they had killed all the monsters, Horatio was surprised to see that the armoured Braxian hadn’t run away during the fighting

‘You!’ Primus roared at him from where he stood. ‘Hand my granddaughter over!’

The man glanced at the unconscious young woman he was still carrying. Underneath his horned helmet, which had been made in the shape of a dragon, much like Wyvera’s mask, his nose was hooked and his eyes were hard. His dark blue armour gleamed faintly in the pale moonlight which now bathed the fields.

‘Ah, she’s a family member,’ the man said calmly, in a proud, cold voice. ‘That explains why you have pursued her so doggedly...’

He hefted the young woman from his shoulder, dropping her onto the grass, where she sprawled on her back, her long hair splaying out in a mess. She was indeed wearing a fur coat, as Helen had surmised she had purchased recently. Her eyes were closed, but from the shallow rise and fall of her chest she seemed to be alive, at least.

‘If you’ve hurt her!’ shouted Primus.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said the armoured man. ‘The Leader wanted her alive. In any case, there really is nothing to worry about–in a few moments you won’t even exist anymore.’

The man slid a long broadsword from a sheath at his side. The steel of it glowed magically red, throwing more light on his face, revealing him to be even more ugly than Horatio had seen before. In addition to his beak of a nose, he also had a thin, pointed chin, and a nasty scar that ran over his nose and down one cheek.

‘Why did you stop running?’ Horatio asked. It was an odd question, he couldn’t help himself. ‘Why didn’t you keep on going while we dealt with the monsters?’

‘Well, you would have caught up to me eventually, wouldn’t you?’ said the man. ‘It’s actually rather hard to run in all this armour. I only just managed to catch the girl myself, so when your motley group began pursuing me I thought I’d better press on as fast I could to Vishay with the girl. Yes, I’ve heard the rumours that there’s a posse of miscreants putting about slaying Braxians. But you don’t look so tough to me.’ He lifted his sword in the air and it glowed hotter and brighter, an otherworldly red the colour of poppies which lent even more of a sinister pall to his face. ‘I am Glen, the Demon Swordsman! I will succeed where others failed! I sold my soul to the Demon Lord Brax in exchange for supernatural skill with the sword. I have never been defeated in combat, and I will be your end!’

Boss battle: Glen, the Demon Swordsman.