Artowen held his head high. Bardoo’s assistance had been secured; the new year had started brightly. Their new trustworthy companion guided them at the head of their band, each foot on frosty ground, leading them toward the next Kingdom that awaited them. These two remaining southern Kingdoms could prove as difficult as Bardoo, but after uniting them, they would be nearly done. The northern Kingdoms were close allies with Welkia; he would not need to visit them.

  They had barely departed from Rynswater, but his friends were showing signs of fatigue. He himself might have drunk too much on the final night of the festival, but it was an opportunity he allowed himself. The only time he would partake was at a celebration; otherwise, his duties demanded a sharp mind, as did his morals.

  “Should we not have claimed horses before leaving?” Artowen asked.

  “With the path we are taking, they would only slow us,” Mav replied.

  Aunt Idwyn chuckled. “Worried about your friends?”

  “We’re fine, Arty,” Emerii said, “We are almost fully healed. We can keep up.”

  “Is it not drink and the pleasure of the flesh that caused the tiredness?” Mav asked teasingly.

  Emerii stared on unamused.

  Royce blushed, then traversed to the front to rap Mav on the shoulder. Then they began laughing merrily.

  “Lenda and Bardoo share a small section of border, which is where we are aiming for. Thick forests and winter roads that are unkept await us. Mav is correct in his assessment that we do not need the animals,” Aunt Idwyn sighed. “I do not believe any of you lack in moderation or prayer, so I am glad you were able to take full effect of the festival.”

  Artowen smiled brightly as he thought of those three days. That was a reaffirmation. This is what we are fighting for. The peaceful future I envision.

  Drajin singing and dancing without worry. The culture of Bardoo would be thriving and prosperous. He glanced at Mav. Men of other places were welcomed and became one of them. He looked to Emerii, who met his eyes with a smile. A warrior was able to relax without worry. Royce was still messing around with his new friend. New bonds forged through breaking barricades. He looked to his Aunt, her back as stalwart as ever. And…

  All doubts had been cast away. He would get stronger, do what he must. If he met a wall in the future, he would break through it. Even if that act took time. Demanded everything. He let the good mood of his companions persist as they traveled toward their destination, leaving the heart of the hilly and mountainous Bardoo behind for now.

  A cold, sunny day of travel. Far from the dangers that had faced them previously, the Band of the Promised One marched on. Artowen cherished every second, his admiration for the people and love of Dradris exuding from his every movement, his every word.

  He wanted his companions to feel it too, though the sloped hill they were traveling down appeared to be grating on their nerves. Ahead, the thick forest opened, and the hill became less steep. The sun hit the snow, illuminating the area and lessening vision.

  Further on, voices penetrated the canopy as did new feet on snowy ground. Artowen thought nothing of it, only his fellow Drajin on some errand or another. Perhaps hunting on this fine day. Aunt Idwyn grabbed his arm and dragged him into a crouch. The rest of the band followed her lead.

  “Listen closely,” She whispered, “Those are not words spoken by Drajin.”

  True to her word, Artowen could not understand the words that lingered in the air. He had initially attributed it to distance and wind, but now he understood. The words were harsh and guttural. Even the way they trudged through the wilderness was unrefined.

  Emerii scowled with one eye closed. “The enemy.”

  “How did the Uxsons get so far into Bardoo?” Mav asked, distress rippling through his voice.

  “There are only three, I think that would explain it.” After a moment of pause, “They are looking in our direction.”

  To punctuate her statement, a roar was let out from the direction of their foes. Then words were levied, though they could not understand. Hand on weapons, bated breath. It would be for Artowen to decide how to proceed.

  Aunt Idwyn sighed. “He was always fond of keeping that tracker next to him. A man with a deity that increases his sense of smell.” She stood regally and strutted out into the open.

  “Wait!” Artowen called after her as his body moved on its own, exposing him as well.

  Three Uxsons. Two of them wore the standard fare with a black wolf pelt. In a sea of similar garb and stoic features marred only by bloodlust, they would not stand out. The man in the middle, however, was different. Did the Uxsons truly possess the tools required to make clothes that fine? Pure black with sharp features, the chest had a series of buttons to affix the jacket. A thin cloak rested on his back, concealing some sort of axe. Astonishingly, the clothes were rimmed in some sort of gold. It couldn’t have been a simple color; it appeared to be gold woven into cloth.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  That garb contained a mountain of a man, rugged and viscous even by Uxson standards. He laughed, then with a thick accent spoke, “Idwyn! Who would have guessed I’d run into you here?”

  “What could have ever brought you out here, Vhorn?” Aunt Idwyn asked curtly.

  Vhorn? Was that not the name of a Divine Hammer?

  The man laughed heartily again. “Do not be like that, Idwyn.” Vhorn’s gaze passed over Artowen. “Ah, this must be the so-called Promised One. Your blood runs strong, I see.”

  “Who is he?” Artowen asked.

  “Vhorn, the Seventh Divine Hammer. A general who is seventh in rank in terms of power and influence. That does not include the Dark King, of course; Sliva stands above them. Vhorn is not someone you can handle at this time, Artowen. Stay close and do not bait him into a battle.”

  As he nodded, he felt the presence of his companions, felt their support as they now stood on either side of him.

  “Drajin do not even know of the Divine Hammers after all this time? I should not be surprised, but at least one as knowledgeable as you understands the history and importance of the title. When I find my quarry, you will have to join me for my evening meal.” There was a fiendish look in Vhorn’s eyes.

  Artowen gritted his teeth.

  “Quarry? A thief? Or did another woman run from you?” Aunt Idwyn laughed shrilly.

  “A slave, and my woman. A bitch who is impossible to tame, but with a unique flavor to her flesh. I’ll have to teach her a lesson for running away; perhaps I’ll toss her to my men to use for a while.”

  Artowen burned. He was hardly holding himself back.

  “Oh, you can’t do that, Vhorn. What will the women soldiers think?”

  “Hah! Like it matters. I will find something to entertain them. We will resume our discussion later. For now, I must find her.” He looked at the man to his left, who pointed past them further up the slope. “She never cried when I took her, but she would fight back with all her strength. This time, I’ll break her. It will be a feast to see her face in tears.”

  Artowen was already running. There had been no resistance: his friends had not tried to stop him. In fact, they were already moving too. He wanted to thank them, but now was not the time. He was already close to Vhorn, who glared on in surprise. A slight smirk hinted at amusement.

  Sword drawn, the arc already determined, the many reasons for this action came flooding into Artowen’s mind. If he killed a Divine Hammer here, a general, that would increase the likelihood that the Drajin alliance could win during the coming channao war. It would add credibility to his cause, throw the Uxsons into disarray. Vhorn only had two guards.

  But that was not the reason.

  The lustful, disgusting look as Vhorn undressed his aunt with his eyes.

  Once again, not the reason.

  They were part of it, of course, but…

  “All you Uxson rapists should go die!” Artowen screamed with all his soul as his sword connected with his target.

  Vhorn had blocked it with his double-headed axe. The man had not moved from the force of the strike. Vhorn readied his weapon and launched a counterattack. Artowen positioned his sword to block.

  The next thing he knew, he was flying. If he were not in such a precarious situation, the view would be lovely. He forced the shock from his system and spun in the air. The putrid sensation filled the joints in his legs. His appendages were fully protected by his deity. He hit the ground and slid from the snow, but otherwise he was unscathed.

  “Hoh? A good landing,” Vhorn said, amused.

  It does not matter if I’m not strong enough. I will kill this man, right here, right now! Artowen surged forward.

  Emerii was already meeting Vhorn in combat. Through the intense flurry, she was holding her own, but the Divine Hammer appeared not to even be trying. A crossbow bolt flew, but Vhorn moved his head, dodging.

  The two Uxsons accompanying him had stepped back, uninterested in the battle. Mav had run off like usual. Still, three would be more than enough for him.

  Emerii turned away every destructive strike, creating openings for Artowen to strike with everything he had. Cold sweat on his neck, the deity summoned in his joints, strengthening every fiber of his being. However, the attacks never found purchase. But they were wearing him down. Or so it seemed.

  A sudden attack launched at Artowen, a backward strike that would still be deadly thanks to the second axe head and the force of the foe’s deity. Artowen didn’t have time to dodge. He blocked. He did not get off lucky like the first time.

  Artowen was sent skidding into the ground, his bones aching, blood spilling from a cut on his head that reddened his golden hair.

  He righted himself, world spinning, just in time to see the axe in motion, aiming for the kill on Emerii. He could not say anything; he could not find his voice.

  Another crossbow bolt from Royce, Vhorn changed momentum and batted it away with his weapon.

  Emerii jumped back, creating distance as she took a new stance.

  Perhaps she was still suffering from her injuries, perhaps he was weighing her down. Maybe they were not ready.

  A bellowing, mocking laugh resounded from the monster. “A feast! Woman! To find one as skilled as you here is unfound luck. The Promised One will be the topping on the perfect meal after you’re finished.”

  Vhorn began to approach Emerii. The beast whose pure strength outmatched Artowen’s, whose skill outpaced Emerii’s. Still, she stood resolute, longsword ready for her dance. Artowen hardened himself, ready to give everything he had, though it would not be enough.

  “Wait,” A voice cut through the tension.

  Vhorn’s face lit up in excitement. “So you show yourself, Eira! I will deal with you in a moment.”

  “No, I cannot allow you to harm Idwyn’s companions. They fight for my honor,” The woman said, now fully in view. The muscular woman was in rags, her hard, rectangular features fringed by red. It was a wonder how she had not frozen to death in the winter hills.

  An arrow suddenly flew from the tree line, but the Divine Hammer batted it away easily.

  Vhorn smirked. “An extremely skilled warrior, a ferocious golden grizzly cub, a speedy cuug, and a runt. What could you offer to make me stop?”

  Eira scrunched her face.

  Artowen prepared to throw himself at the Divine Hammer once again.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Aunt Idwyn said, “I will go with Vhorn.”

  Shock. Silence.

  “You can’t, Idwyn,” Eira demanded.

  The Truthsayer shook her head gently, then removed her fur cloak and placed it over Eira. “I will rejoin you in not too long. We can catch up after that, my dear friend.” Aunt Idwyn put a hand to Eira’s face, then pivoted.

  “I could simply kill them and take you,” Vhorn said.

  A challenging smile. “Oh, Vhorn, you know you can never catch me. Besides, you are a man who relishes a challenge and the thrill of battle. All the members of the Band of the Promised One grow in strength day by day. Would you be so foolish as to pluck an unripe fruit?”

  The man stood for a long moment, then grinned cruelly as he put his axe away. “You know me well, Idwyn. Then, during channao, when our God rises, I will take their lives. A perfectly prepared meal worth waiting for.” He pivoted and began walking down the hill away from them. “Become strong, cub. I see potential in you.”

  As Aunt Idwyn began walking after him, she said, “Guide them to Lenda Mav. Artowen, take good care of Eira. I will rejoin you when I can.”

  Before any more words of objection could be uttered, she was already gone.