Wes didn’t return on the first day or the second as he had promised, and Harm was getting worried. It was only in the late afternoon of the fifth day that Harm heard a horse and the creaking of a cart on the path leading to the shack. As Wes appeared in Harm’s view, he called.

“I was getting worried,” Harm called, smiling, seeing his friend.

Wes didn’t look like himself. His eyes were fearful, his left cheek puffy and inflamed, and Harm frowned.

“RUN,” Wes screamed at Harm.

Harm stood dumbfounded for a moment as the blade of a sword was thrust through Wes’s back, erupting from his chest. A man stood from the rear of the cart, and the horse snorted as the smell of blood reached its nostrils, pulling up short of the clearing and skittering.

Harm didn’t recognise the man who now looked past the dead form of Wes towards Harm, who stood no more than fifty feet away. The man withdrew his blade. The lifeless form of Wes fell sideways, slipping from the cart.

“Bastard,” Harm screamed. He was about to run at the man when he saw movement behind the cart. He couldn’t see how many there were, but he knew it was too many for him to fight head-on. The leather jacket rested on the bench, and he grabbed it as he heard the caw of a blackbird and saw the swooping form of Jessie flying at the man who had just killed Wes, just before he turned and ran. Over the past couple of days, he had been searching in the woods and knew they stretched for several hundred feet behind the shack before opening onto the rolling plains. 

The sound of cursing and shouts of anger filled the air as he rushed through the brush, knowing the way. Trails that animals used wound through its canopy. 

“Spread out and find the fucker,” Harm heard Satil shout as he continued.

Why run? His demon called.

Your enemy is there!

There are too many. Harm thought in response. He could hear the sounds of men entering the wood—the clink of metal, cursing and grunting as they fought through the underbrush. Harm was unencumbered—only clothes on his body and no armour to hamper his movement. Over the past few days, he had been training twice each day, early morning and afternoon, as well as completing an exercise routine, and even in the very short time, it had paid dividends. His breathing was still heavy, and that may never return to that of his youth, but his body felt good. The aches he now had felt were pleasurable. Not those of a broken, injured man.

Harm knew he was leading the men by a distance, their armoured forms slowing them. If Harm had been wearing armour, he might have faced them. He knew most town guards were only at a low level. Their training was not developed or maintained regularly, but numbers could easily outweigh skill.

Harm hadn’t recognised the grinning face of the guard who had murdered Wes, but his image and that of the blade puncturing his chest screamed in his mind’s eye.

They will all die. Harm thought.

Good! Good! The voice said, dripping with pleasure.

Kill your enemy!

Release your true power!

But not today. Today, I survive and then get my revenge. Harm thought.

He moved from the tree cover and onto the undulating terrain of the plains ahead. Not pausing, he sprinted across the open ground to where a knoll broke the terrain, moving around its side as he lost sight of the wood. The sounds of his followers’ shouts were distant, and he knew he had a lead on them. He stopped briefly to catch his breath and took in the land ahead. The terrain was vast and open, with tall grasses, windswept and leaning, and the rolling tundra would provide areas to hopefully hide in. Sparse trees dotted it, standing like sentries across the horizon, watching for those who entered. 

It wasn’t the best terrain to hide in; a deep forest would have been better, but the grasses were tall, and he hoped he could disappear into them. He started to move, pushing onward. 

Harm had lost track of time as he came to rest in a shallow, wide gully. A thin stream of water ran along its base, which in another age may have been a raging river. He leaned against the gully wall, panting heavily. The sound of his pursuers had eventually faded, but Harm hadn’t stopped. He had kept pushing on until he was certain no one was behind him.

The sun had started to fade, and he rested for some time, listening only to the calls of animals that moved through the grasslands. He had seen deer and hogling, but also knew there might be predators. As the sun fell, the temperature did as well. His clothes were soaked in sweat, and he wished he had spares or could light a fire, but he had nothing on him. He had not been expecting to flee the shack. 

Harm moved down the gully, finding a spot where a natural cut appeared in its side. It provided some protection from the wind that blew across the plains. He pulled the jacket tight around him, and, tucking his hands under his arms, he hugged himself. 

Those bastards murdered Wes! He thought as the events unfolded in his mind.

Why? Why kill such a kind-hearted man? What about Sister Carol? He thought.

No, they couldn’t do anything to her. Could they?

Harm’s thoughts tortured him. His family, his friends, maybe Larky, but definitely Wes, are dead because of him.

Vengeance! Vengeance! All must die! Release your inner demon!

The voice spoke.

Harm sat as the sun set, darkness filling the plains. Animals called, and night awoke. He felt nervous being in the unknown, and he called Florence into his hand. Her weight gave him strength and confidence, pushing back the fear that crawled at the edges of his mind.

Florence needs feeding!

The voice said.

She wishes to grow!

The creatures of the night filled the air, the hoot of an owl, the growl of a predator and the wail of its prey, but nothing appeared. The moon was high now, and the scattered clouds rushed by, changing the shadows instantly, Harm’s eyes playing tricks on him where he remained. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, as his eyes flew open at the cawing sound. Early morning light was straining to push the night’s shadows away as it forced its way across the plain. Harm was looking east, where the sun’s glow appeared large on the horizon.

Jessie stood on the ground in front of him. Her head tilted to the side as she cawed again in a low tone. Her beak was stained red, and she must have damaged the man who had attacked her master.

“I’m sorry,” Harm said, and with those two words, he sobbed, his shoulders shaking as pent-up tension and frustration released.

Jessie looked at him. The crow’s eyes didn’t tell a story on their own, but Harm knew she had lost her master, and guilt filled him. 

She hopped forward across the ground, leaning her head toward him. He reached out and stroked her, the way he had seen Wes do, and she pushed against his hand. Her feathers were silken and soft, and he continued doing so for some time.

“I will get revenge for Wes. Don’t worry,” Harm said. Jessie cocked her head and cawed. "William?" Harm asked. He felt Jessie drop her head. "Bastards," he swore.

Harm stood, Jessie hopping back as he did. His muscles stiffened from the night’s cold, and he walked into the rays of the morning sun, the warmth welcoming as he stood facing it, eyes closed, bathing in its glory. Bending by the small stream, he threw water on his face before scooping some in his hands and drinking. It tasted dirty and unpleasant, but he needed to drink. Fighting back the urge to spit it out, he swallowed, feeling the gritty texture of sand as he did. 

Once he had his fill, he stood stretching before he climbed from the gully and looked back from where he had come. The plains’ open, rolling tundra showed no signs of pursuit, and the windswept grasses rustled in the breeze. The broad valley mouth where Sallew sat was in the distance—too far to see clearly with the naked eye, and it was the first time he realised how far he had travelled.

He needed to go back; he couldn’t keep running away. He had run or hidden from his demons since his family’s death, and now it was time to fight. The gully stretched far in both directions, and he followed its path. His stomach growled, and he wished he had the dry rations; the water not placating his hunger, but there had been no time. Jessie had taken off, flying high above. As he followed the gulley’s lip, she followed Harm.

The gully wound through the tundra, and when Harm believed he had gone far enough, he turned, heading back towards the distant hills to the side of where Sallew sat.

Several animals bolted as he walked through the grasses, disturbing their resting or feeding spots, but there were no voices or sounds of men—only those of nature. The sun was high before he had even got halfway to the hills. His pace was slow and steady. Harm was in no rush, although the voice in his mind had no patience.

Hurry! Return! Kill!

It repeated, clawing at him.

“No,” Harm said, answering its pleas.

But we need blood! We need vengeance!

“And we will have it,” he replied.

As the day wore on, the foothills neared. Harm knew the main path ran along their base, leading towards the town of Kartoon, a half-day travel by horse and cart, probably a day by foot from Sallew. He still had the substantial coin he had stolen from the bodies of his victims. He had more wealth now than he had managed in years. Dasir’s pouch contained several gold coins as well as silver and copper.

Equipment. I need to equip myself. Harm thought.

As he reached the track, he turned right. Kartoon may be some distance, but he knew they had a smithy. He had been there over the years. It was larger than Sallew, not by much, but had more to offer than Sallew alone, and he knew he couldn’t stroll into Sallew to buy armour or rations.

No! The voice in his mind wailed.

“I need equipment,” he replied.

Don’t delay! You went the wrong way! Kill them! Vengeance!

“And I will,” he snapped as anger filled him. “But under my terms.”

The situation didn’t just pass him without a niggling concern. Had he really gone mad? Again, answering the voices. He tried to ignore his thoughts and focus on reaching Kartoon. The path was much easier to travel than the grasses of the plain, and he increased his pace. Later that afternoon, he spotted Kartoon. Its wooden palisade and watchtowers stuck into the sky from its raised position. The path wound through the low foothills as he approached, losing and regaining sight of the town as he did. 

He wasn’t far now; as the sun lowered, his hopes rose, and his stomach growled at the thought of food. He let out a groan, his throat scratchy, reminding him he hadn’t drunk. Jessie flew low and cawed.

Harm had forgotten about the bird and looked at it, surprised. It cawed again and flew higher towards the town. Harm continued until he heard them—the clattering of hooves on the path ahead. Quickly, Harm moved off the track, hiding behind a clump of gorse bushes. Had Jessie been warning him?

He listened as the horses approached, their snorting and hooves becoming louder. From his hidden position, he watched as four armed men came into view along the path. They wore the sash of Kartoon across their armoured bodies. They wore chain mail shirts and kettle helms, which is the standard attire of most town guards. Two carried long swords on their belts, and the others carried spears. 

It must be a patrol. Harm thought. He was aware that the goblins would attack traders or some of the surrounding farms. Stealing goods from their victims and guard patrols was a common sight. Even Sallew had them between the town and Hillnot at the end of the valley. He often saw them pass the farm when he was working in the pasture.

Harm didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention; his clothes, although scrubbed, were still stained and scarred from his fight. The leg of the trousers was torn where the bolt had struck him, and the jacket had a dark brown stain on its shoulder. He didn’t want to have to answer an inquisitive guard’s questions, so he remained hidden. Only after he heard them disappear in the distance did he continue his journey.

Several farms surrounded Kartoon, and he could see the light from their lanterns in the fading light. Lantern light was now clearly visible in the watchtowers and at the gate of the town. The palisade wasn’t high, no more than seven feet, but it was a deterrent at least and would hamper any greedy goblins looking for easy pickings. He knew its layout, and rather than approaching the gate, he walked to the left, where the town had cut into the hillside; he knew the town had a mine. The palisade ended there, and he was able to drop down from the hill into the rear garden of a house. Lantern light escaped the confines of the house but didn’t reach the rear of the garden in which he now stood. 

The smithy was situated near the far side of the town, and Harm hopped the fence and worked his way through the streets. The sound of voices and singing from one of the several taverns or inns in the town filled the night’s air, which had since claimed the day.

The darkness obscured the state of his clothing as he gave a wide berth to anyone on the streets. No one paid him any heed. Why would they? He was just a man walking down a street. Although that is not what his mind thought.

His eyes flickered nervously at everyone he passed. 

Had Satil informed them? Would they be looking for him? Harm didn’t know, but he wouldn’t chance it. That was why he had snuck into the town and not entered by the gates. The smell of ale and roasting meat carried in the night’s breeze from a nearby inn.

Drink! You need a drink!

His demon called. This voice wasn’t the same as the other.

No! Harm thought angrily as the thought made saliva gather in his mouth. Or was it the smell of the food? As his stomach growled in protest. He wasn’t sure.

The smithy was in darkness when he neared it. The forge would have been silent for several hours at this time of night. He knew there was a shop where the smithy sold his wares, and he moved towards it. It was at the side of the smithy, a single-storey building with a sloped roof. It had two doors. The one to the front was by the forge's entrance, and another at the rear. He passed by the building's front. There were buildings nearby, but nothing that close to look over, as he pulled himself over the yard’s stone wall, which stood several feet high, dropping into the yard. The building was in darkness as he reached the door, trying its handle. 

He had known it would be locked and moved to the window. The sound of laughter and music drifted down the streets, and Harm removed a dagger from his inventory before prying it into the window’s edge. He strained, his palms sweaty and his heart racing at the fear of being caught, but he had a goal, a promise to keep, and his desperation replaced his feelings of guilt that clawed at him because of his current actions. 

The window frame popped, and the clasp that held it closed broke from the pressure. Harm pulled it open before climbing inside.