The Assanaten were persistent bastards.
Of course, Kion had known this. He had faced them in battle. Sar Assanadon’s warriors were well-drilled, well-equipped, and fanatically loyal. Although here and now their great gear worked against them.
Kion lay flat on the ground, looking over the ledge of the rock, careful not to be seen. Below him, the enemy was struggling up the mountain from two sides. Not used to the thin air, they were having a hard time. Having grown up in the slums of Saggab, Kion didn’t enjoy the climb either but unlike his pursuers, he wasn’t wearing scale armor.
He robbed back and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the sky. Crossing his arms, he thought through his options. Despite having run into a couple of dead ends, he had stayed ahead of the warriors since dawn. Until now the only viable direction had been up and so he had climbed the mountain almost all the way to the top. Close to the peak he now had a couple of options. He could continue up and then decent on the other side or try to circle around.
The pursuers had already reacted to the changing terrain and spread out, giving Kion the third option.
Kion closed his eyes and recalled the scene he had observed below. Before his mind’s eye, he saw the warriors climb from rock to rock. He watched their movement, their gear. There were fourteen of them. Too many to face on flat open ground, even for him. But here spread out between the rocks?
His lips slowly formed a half smile.
Jumping back to his feet, he decided to hide his bag, only keeping his spear and his knife on him. Then he started to explore the area around him, jumping from rock to rock to test the footing. There wasn’t much time. He guessed that the first enemies would reach his altitude in less than fifteen minutes. But being familiar with the ground was invaluable, especially when being outnumbered.
When he had reached the far side of the soon-to-be battlefield, he hid behind a boulder. Squatting on the ground he relaxed. When the Assanaten reached him, they would be tired, their legs stiff from the unfamiliar exercise. He was looking forward to it. “Inashtar, goddess of war, guide your servant’s hands and feet today. Let me spill the enemy’s blood in your honor.”
Inashtar was a passionate, hot-blooded goddess. She would surely approve of Kion’s intentions.
The noise of stone hitting stone betrayed the approaching enemy. Soon Kion could hear the men’s wheezing. They didn’t talk much, probably lacking the air.
Kion straightened and stretched his limbs. It was time to begin.
Tracking their movements as best as he could by the noise the warriors made, Kion decided to retreat a little further around the boulder he was using for cover. He wanted the enemy's ragged line to pass him by, and then fall them in the back.
“Through there,” a man’s voice said in the Assanaten dialect of the Old Tongue. Being similar to the Saggabian dialect, Kion understood him well enough.
I was right, he thought. The warriors at this end of the line were choosing the path he had assumed, climbing between the bigger rocks to save their strength. He would circle around and emerge right behind them.
Stepping around the corner, he almost ran into a warrior appearing right in front of him.
“Huh?” The man stared at him open-mouthed, sweat running down his bearded face.
Wrong choice, Kion thought in the back of his mind, seeing the Assanaten’s next movement when his limbs had barely started to twitch. Letting go of his spear, he stepped forward, right onto the man’s front foot.
The warrior tried to scramble backward. He managed to pull his foot free but the unexpected resistance made him stumble.
Kion immediately followed up, pushing into his opponent. His left hand covered the axe head, stopping the warrior from pulling the weapon from his belt. With the right, he rammed his knife under the man’s chin. A small push cut the major blood carriers.
Kion didn’t stop. Covering the man’s mouth, he pushed him back against the rock wall. It only took a couple of heartbeats for the panicked look in the man’s eyes to turn dull. His body became limp, and Kion let him slowly slide to the ground. His eyes still open, the warrior’s chin sagged onto his chest. His black, fist-long beard, cropped in the Assanaten fashion, was soaked with blood.
Kion straightened and looked around, listening carefully. There were no screams of alarm. For the moment their short struggle hadn’t been noticed.
He examined his knife. Both weapon and the hand holding it were dyed red. He cut the man’s water skin from his belt, opened it with his teeth, and poured the content over his hand and blade.
Taking the time was a risk, but blood dried quickly and when it did it became incredibly sticky. Kion didn’t want anything to hinder his movements. Happy with the result, he wiped the knife on his tunic and pushed it back into its sheath. He checked the binding on his sandals one last time and picked up his spear.
Careful not to make any noise, he snuck around the protruding boulder. The line of warriors had already advanced further, and his first victims were past the spot he had selected for his ambush. Kion didn’t let that discourage him. Always crouching below the edge of the rocks, he followed them.
He found the first two under a low cliff, which stood slightly taller than a grown man. The unfortunate pair was just about to scale it, with one serving as the other’s ladder. Facing the rock wall, the bottom man had no idea Kion was so close. Not until the spear pierced his neck.
“Hey!” Losing the ground from under him, the climber gripped onto the cliff edge. For a moment, he dangled there cursing, until the weapon’s bronze tip slid under his scale armor.
Leaving the heap of bodies behind before the limbs had stopped twitching, Kion ran along the cliff wall. His presence could be noticed at any moment, so he couldn’t stop moving. When fighting multiple opponents, to be pinned down was to die.
The next warrior he met, a huge sprawling man, armed with axe and shield, heard him coming. His warning shout bellowed from the mountain before Kion could close the distance.
“Come at me, dog!” The man backed Kion closer with his axe. He was positioned well. Standing on a rock, he held the high ground.
“There!”
The shout behind him made Kion glance over his shoulder. Twenty paces away three more warriors had appeared, two of which held bows.
He didn’t panic. Ducking low, he ran around the massive man’s rock, following the warrior’s movements from the corner of his eyes.
“Face me!” the big man shouted, turning with him. The moment he stepped forward to follow, Kion whipped around, his spear extending far out. He had read his opponent’s movement perfectly. The spear tip cut the front tendons connecting the leg and foot, right when the man’s weight was shifting.
The warrior fell forward with a scream, but Kion didn’t take the time to finish him. Unable to walk, the man wasn’t a danger anymore and the three behind were closing in quickly.
Run or fight? His instinct told him that the three men were easy pickings in the confined space between the rocks. The heavy war bows were no danger down here as long as he didn’t give them the time to line up a shot. Gritting his teeth, he turned away. The shouting would summon the rest of the enemy to this position. He had to move on before he was encircled.
Sprinting through a small canyon formed by towering boulders, he kept his eyes on the next corner. Slowing down as he approached it, he stopped momentarily to listen. Now his familiarity with the surrounding area paid off. He knew the ground ahead and could guess the direction the enemy would approach from.
When he couldn’t hear anything, Kion carefully glanced around the corner. They’re slow, he thought. Either the Assanaten were more tired than he had assumed, or their line had stretched out since he had observed their movements from above. Whatever the truth, he was sure that at least some would come this way.
He advanced a little further until he reached a crack in the stonewall. Careful not to make any noise, Kion squeezed himself into the opening and no more than thirty heartbeats later the rattling of an approaching group sounded through the canyon.
Kion held his breath.
He was taking a risk. If anyone of the warriors took the time to take a closer look at the shadows, he was dead. It would be as easy as stabbing rats in a drum.
They passed by the hiding place a moment later and Kion braced himself. Cowering in the dark he half expected them to hear his heart as it pounded against his chest.
He counted four. The black-bearded men were sweating and wheezing, but their eyes showed grim determination.
Kion waited a couple of heartbeats, again listening. When nobody followed the first group, he squeezed out of the crack and followed. Reaching the corner, he could already hear them. They must have run into the three from before.
Protected from the wind, their voices carried easily to him. “There was no other path! Could he have scaled the wall?”
“Not back there!”
Without looking Kion could tell that the group wasn’t more than ten long strides away. The canyon was broad enough for two, in some places three people, to stand shoulder to shoulder. Any other warrior as experienced as him would have taken the opportunity to turn and run.
“Inashtar”, Kion whispered, loosening his shoulders, “watch me!”
Making as little noise as he could he sprinted around the corner, charging the most feared group of fighters on the continent.
Most were distracted but a few looked in his direction. Of those, only one stood in the front. He was the only one that mattered in this first moment.
The man raised his shield and moved to meet the charge, but Kion stabbed at his face forcing him to parry. Blocking his own line of side with his shield allowed Kion to shift his target.
Instead of pulling back, Kion whipped his spear sideways, ripping the bronze tip’s blade through the next man’s cheek. Eyes or throat would have been better, Kion thought. But it was enough. The wounded man stumbled backward into his comrades.
Kion slid half a step back, easily evading a spear thrust. Then the moment of surprise was gone, and the warrior’s training and experience kicked in. One pulled the wounded man back and another stepped into the gap. Naturally forming lines, they advanced on Kion.
Now that the Assanaten finally had their prey right in front of them their faces showed anger and confidence. For them the outcome was inevitable. They had superior numbers and they had shields. It would only take a moment to run him over. Should he turn and flee the bowmen would put an arrow in his back.
But then the moment stretched out.
Kion’s feet never stood still, constantly shifting left and right, back and forth. His left hand barely moved. His right hand held the spear shaft at the very end, thrusting, rotating, and pulling. The sliding thrust technique allowed him to switch targets between attacks at an incredible speed. Whenever an opponent tried to step forward, the spear met his legs. If he used his shield to protect them, he left his upper body uncovered and the bronze tip immediately changed target, rushing at his face. Whatever they tried, their foe seemed to have been waiting for that move.
In just a few heartbeats, the men in front started to receive the first light cuts and shallow stab wounds and the group’s forward pressure faltered. Determination turned to confusion and then to frustration. Squashed together by the canyon walls, the warriors could only fight two at a time. Making full use of the length of his weapon, Kion stayed mostly out of reach of the spearmen in the second rank.
The bowmen in the back tried to line up a shot but, never losing sight of a single foe, Kion made sure to always keep another warrior between him and any drawn string. Unable to hold a full draw for very long, the frustrated men had to relax their strings, only to watch Kion step through their line immediately afterward.
A man in the first rank screamed as the bronze pierced his left eye. He raised his shield to protect his head and stumbled a step backward. The warrior at his side tried to cover him by swinging at Kion only to miss and suffer a stab in the side of his throat.
The tip did not pierce deeply. Kion couldn’t afford to have his weapon stuck even if it was only for half a heartbeat.
Swinging his axe, the man only realized the extent of his wound when the blood loss made him stumble and fall to his knees. As he stared down at his shoulder drenched with thick, crimson liquid in confusion, Kion had already shifted his target.
With a flick of the shaft, he deflected the spear of an Assanaten who was pushing forward from the second rank. Crouching slightly to protect himself from the archers, he counter-attacked by stabbing the man’s thigh before piercing his neck as he stumbled sideways.
From one moment to the next three men had been taken out of the fight and the enemy's ranks were in chaos. Time to break them, Kion thought and pushed himself off the ground.
Having never lost track of any of his opponents’ movements he sidestepped an arrow the moment it left the string. In the next heartbeat, he was in the middle of the group, felling the last unharmed shield bearer with a kick before extending his right arm out, pushing the spear tip into a bowman’s mouth. And with that, he had broken through.
The rest was a quick slaughter. Trying to scramble away, men stumbled over the limbs of their falls comrades. Kion advanced, methodically thrusting his weapon left and right, piecing vitals and cutting major blood carriers. When it was done, seven dead or dying bodies littered the canyon floor behind him.
He didn’t look back. Instead, he turned to the canyon’s entrance, meeting the eyes of a quiet observer. There, leaning on a spear with both hands stood the big warrior. His ankle was bandaged in blood-drenched cloth.
“I watched you,” the Assanaten shouted. “I watched you kill my men.”
“I know,” Kion said walking towards him.
“I have never seen anything like it. Are you the one they call the Dancer?”
“Yes.”
The big man nodded, shifting his weight to his healthy foot, and reading his weapon. “I have heard of you. Your speed – the gods truly gave you a great Gift.”
“Inashtar didn’t give me speed, nor strength,” Kion said, pointing at the middle of his chest, his center. “She gave me the Gift to see.”
It took a moment before the Assanaten leader’s eyes widened in realization and wandered to the corpses of his men filling the canyon. “All of them? At the same time?”
Kion’s spear plunged through his neck.
He never divulged the nature of the Goddesses’ Gift to anybody. After all, it was his advantage. But here it had seemed appropriate to give her credit before the enemy he had slain in her honor.
“Great goddess, I give thanks to you for blessing me with your Gift and giving me this victory. I swear, I shall sacrifice to you as soon as I reach your closest temple.” Inashtar was one of the most widely worshipped gods on the continent. Even the colony of the barbarians from Helcenaea should have a temple dedicated to her. But that would have to wait. He was still far away from Riadnos. Kion could only hope and pray that the goddess’s goodwill would last.
He spent the next hour hunting down and picking off the remaining warriors in ones or twos. Once his bloody work was done, he enjoyed a generous meal of their supplies and thought about his next step.
The Assanaten were persistent bastards.
Of course, Kion had known this. He had faced them in battle. Sar Assanadon’s warriors were well-drilled, well-equipped, and fanatically loyal. Although here and now their great gear worked against them.
Kion lay flat on the ground, looking over the ledge of the rock, careful not to be seen. Below him, the enemy was struggling up the mountain from two sides. Not used to the thin air, they were having a hard time. Having grown up in the slums of Saggab, Kion didn’t enjoy the climb either but unlike his pursuers, he wasn’t wearing scale armor.
He robbed back and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the sky. Crossing his arms, he thought through his options. Despite having run into a couple of dead ends, he had stayed ahead of the warriors since dawn. Until now the only viable direction had been up and so he had climbed the mountain almost all the way to the top. Close to the peak he now had a couple of options. He could continue up and then decent on the other side or try to circle around.
The pursuers had already reacted to the changing terrain and spread out, giving Kion the third option.
Kion closed his eyes and recalled the scene he had observed below. Before his mind’s eye, he saw the warriors climb from rock to rock. He watched their movement, their gear. There were fourteen of them. Too many to face on flat open ground, even for him. But here spread out between the rocks?
His lips slowly formed a half smile.
Jumping back to his feet, he decided to hide his bag, only keeping his spear and his knife on him. Then he started to explore the area around him, jumping from rock to rock to test the footing. There wasn’t much time. He guessed that the first enemies would reach his altitude in less than fifteen minutes. But being familiar with the ground was invaluable, especially when being outnumbered.
When he had reached the far side of the soon-to-be battlefield, he hid behind a boulder. Squatting on the ground he relaxed. When the Assanaten reached him, they would be tired, their legs stiff from the unfamiliar exercise. He was looking forward to it. “Inashtar, goddess of war, guide your servant’s hands and feet today. Let me spill the enemy’s blood in your honor.”
Inashtar was a passionate, hot-blooded goddess. She would surely approve of Kion’s intentions.
The noise of stone hitting stone betrayed the approaching enemy. Soon Kion could hear the men’s wheezing. They didn’t talk much, probably lacking the air.
Kion straightened and stretched his limbs. It was time to begin.
Tracking their movements as best as he could by the noise the warriors made, Kion decided to retreat a little further around the boulder he was using for cover. He wanted the enemy's ragged line to pass him by, and then fall them in the back.
“Through there,” a man’s voice said in the Assanaten dialect of the Old Tongue. Being similar to the Saggabian dialect, Kion understood him well enough.
I was right, he thought. The warriors at this end of the line were choosing the path he had assumed, climbing between the bigger rocks to save their strength. He would circle around and emerge right behind them.
Stepping around the corner, he almost ran into a warrior appearing right in front of him.
“Huh?” The man stared at him open-mouthed, sweat running down his bearded face.
Wrong choice, Kion thought in the back of his mind, seeing the Assanaten’s next movement when his limbs had barely started to twitch. Letting go of his spear, he stepped forward, right onto the man’s front foot.
The warrior tried to scramble backward. He managed to pull his foot free but the unexpected resistance made him stumble.
Kion immediately followed up, pushing into his opponent. His left hand covered the axe head, stopping the warrior from pulling the weapon from his belt. With the right, he rammed his knife under the man’s chin. A small push cut the major blood carriers.
Kion didn’t stop. Covering the man’s mouth, he pushed him back against the rock wall. It only took a couple of heartbeats for the panicked look in the man’s eyes to turn dull. His body became limp, and Kion let him slowly slide to the ground. His eyes still open, the warrior’s chin sagged onto his chest. His black, fist-long beard, cropped in the Assanaten fashion, was soaked with blood.
Kion straightened and looked around, listening carefully. There were no screams of alarm. For the moment their short struggle hadn’t been noticed.
He examined his knife. Both weapon and the hand holding it were dyed red. He cut the man’s water skin from his belt, opened it with his teeth, and poured the content over his hand and blade.
Taking the time was a risk, but blood dried quickly and when it did it became incredibly sticky. Kion didn’t want anything to hinder his movements. Happy with the result, he wiped the knife on his tunic and pushed it back into its sheath. He checked the binding on his sandals one last time and picked up his spear.
Careful not to make any noise, he snuck around the protruding boulder. The line of warriors had already advanced further, and his first victims were past the spot he had selected for his ambush. Kion didn’t let that discourage him. Always crouching below the edge of the rocks, he followed them.
He found the first two under a low cliff, which stood slightly taller than a grown man. The unfortunate pair was just about to scale it, with one serving as the other’s ladder. Facing the rock wall, the bottom man had no idea Kion was so close. Not until the spear pierced his neck.
“Hey!” Losing the ground from under him, the climber gripped onto the cliff edge. For a moment, he dangled there cursing, until the weapon’s bronze tip slid under his scale armor.
Leaving the heap of bodies behind before the limbs had stopped twitching, Kion ran along the cliff wall. His presence could be noticed at any moment, so he couldn’t stop moving. When fighting multiple opponents, to be pinned down was to die.
The next warrior he met, a huge sprawling man, armed with axe and shield, heard him coming. His warning shout bellowed from the mountain before Kion could close the distance.
“Come at me, dog!” The man backed Kion closer with his axe. He was positioned well. Standing on a rock, he held the high ground.
“There!”
The shout behind him made Kion glance over his shoulder. Twenty paces away three more warriors had appeared, two of which held bows.
He didn’t panic. Ducking low, he ran around the massive man’s rock, following the warrior’s movements from the corner of his eyes.
“Face me!” the big man shouted, turning with him. The moment he stepped forward to follow, Kion whipped around, his spear extending far out. He had read his opponent’s movement perfectly. The spear tip cut the front tendons connecting the leg and foot, right when the man’s weight was shifting.
The warrior fell forward with a scream, but Kion didn’t take the time to finish him. Unable to walk, the man wasn’t a danger anymore and the three behind were closing in quickly.
Run or fight? His instinct told him that the three men were easy pickings in the confined space between the rocks. The heavy war bows were no danger down here as long as he didn’t give them the time to line up a shot. Gritting his teeth, he turned away. The shouting would summon the rest of the enemy to this position. He had to move on before he was encircled.
Sprinting through a small canyon formed by towering boulders, he kept his eyes on the next corner. Slowing down as he approached it, he stopped momentarily to listen. Now his familiarity with the surrounding area paid off. He knew the ground ahead and could guess the direction the enemy would approach from.
When he couldn’t hear anything, Kion carefully glanced around the corner. They’re slow, he thought. Either the Assanaten were more tired than he had assumed, or their line had stretched out since he had observed their movements from above. Whatever the truth, he was sure that at least some would come this way.
He advanced a little further until he reached a crack in the stonewall. Careful not to make any noise, Kion squeezed himself into the opening and no more than thirty heartbeats later the rattling of an approaching group sounded through the canyon.
Kion held his breath.
He was taking a risk. If anyone of the warriors took the time to take a closer look at the shadows, he was dead. It would be as easy as stabbing rats in a drum.
They passed by the hiding place a moment later and Kion braced himself. Cowering in the dark he half expected them to hear his heart as it pounded against his chest.
He counted four. The black-bearded men were sweating and wheezing, but their eyes showed grim determination.
Kion waited a couple of heartbeats, again listening. When nobody followed the first group, he squeezed out of the crack and followed. Reaching the corner, he could already hear them. They must have run into the three from before.
Protected from the wind, their voices carried easily to him. “There was no other path! Could he have scaled the wall?”
“Not back there!”
Without looking Kion could tell that the group wasn’t more than ten long strides away. The canyon was broad enough for two, in some places three people, to stand shoulder to shoulder. Any other warrior as experienced as him would have taken the opportunity to turn and run.
“Inashtar”, Kion whispered, loosening his shoulders, “watch me!”
Making as little noise as he could he sprinted around the corner, charging the most feared group of fighters on the continent.
Most were distracted but a few looked in his direction. Of those, only one stood in the front. He was the only one that mattered in this first moment.
The man raised his shield and moved to meet the charge, but Kion stabbed at his face forcing him to parry. Blocking his own line of side with his shield allowed Kion to shift his target.
Instead of pulling back, Kion whipped his spear sideways, ripping the bronze tip’s blade through the next man’s cheek. Eyes or throat would have been better, Kion thought. But it was enough. The wounded man stumbled backward into his comrades.
Kion slid half a step back, easily evading a spear thrust. Then the moment of surprise was gone, and the warrior’s training and experience kicked in. One pulled the wounded man back and another stepped into the gap. Naturally forming lines, they advanced on Kion.
Now that the Assanaten finally had their prey right in front of them their faces showed anger and confidence. For them the outcome was inevitable. They had superior numbers and they had shields. It would only take a moment to run him over. Should he turn and flee the bowmen would put an arrow in his back.
But then the moment stretched out.
Kion’s feet never stood still, constantly shifting left and right, back and forth. His left hand barely moved. His right hand held the spear shaft at the very end, thrusting, rotating, and pulling. The sliding thrust technique allowed him to switch targets between attacks at an incredible speed. Whenever an opponent tried to step forward, the spear met his legs. If he used his shield to protect them, he left his upper body uncovered and the bronze tip immediately changed target, rushing at his face. Whatever they tried, their foe seemed to have been waiting for that move.
In just a few heartbeats, the men in front started to receive the first light cuts and shallow stab wounds and the group’s forward pressure faltered. Determination turned to confusion and then to frustration. Squashed together by the canyon walls, the warriors could only fight two at a time. Making full use of the length of his weapon, Kion stayed mostly out of reach of the spearmen in the second rank.
The bowmen in the back tried to line up a shot but, never losing sight of a single foe, Kion made sure to always keep another warrior between him and any drawn string. Unable to hold a full draw for very long, the frustrated men had to relax their strings, only to watch Kion step through their line immediately afterward.
A man in the first rank screamed as the bronze pierced his left eye. He raised his shield to protect his head and stumbled a step backward. The warrior at his side tried to cover him by swinging at Kion only to miss and suffer a stab in the side of his throat.
The tip did not pierce deeply. Kion couldn’t afford to have his weapon stuck even if it was only for half a heartbeat.
Swinging his axe, the man only realized the extent of his wound when the blood loss made him stumble and fall to his knees. As he stared down at his shoulder drenched with thick, crimson liquid in confusion, Kion had already shifted his target.
With a flick of the shaft, he deflected the spear of an Assanaten who was pushing forward from the second rank. Crouching slightly to protect himself from the archers, he counter-attacked by stabbing the man’s thigh before piercing his neck as he stumbled sideways.
From one moment to the next three men had been taken out of the fight and the enemy's ranks were in chaos. Time to break them, Kion thought and pushed himself off the ground.
Having never lost track of any of his opponents’ movements he sidestepped an arrow the moment it left the string. In the next heartbeat, he was in the middle of the group, felling the last unharmed shield bearer with a kick before extending his right arm out, pushing the spear tip into a bowman’s mouth. And with that, he had broken through.
The rest was a quick slaughter. Trying to scramble away, men stumbled over the limbs of their falls comrades. Kion advanced, methodically thrusting his weapon left and right, piecing vitals and cutting major blood carriers. When it was done, seven dead or dying bodies littered the canyon floor behind him.
He didn’t look back. Instead, he turned to the canyon’s entrance, meeting the eyes of a quiet observer. There, leaning on a spear with both hands stood the big warrior. His ankle was bandaged in blood-drenched cloth.
“I watched you,” the Assanaten shouted. “I watched you kill my men.”
“I know,” Kion said walking towards him.
“I have never seen anything like it. Are you the one they call the Dancer?”
“Yes.”
The big man nodded, shifting his weight to his healthy foot, and reading his weapon. “I have heard of you. Your speed – the gods truly gave you a great Gift.”
“Inashtar didn’t give me speed, nor strength,” Kion said, pointing at the middle of his chest, his center. “She gave me the Gift to see.”
It took a moment before the Assanaten leader’s eyes widened in realization and wandered to the corpses of his men filling the canyon. “All of them? At the same time?”
Kion’s spear plunged through his neck.
He never divulged the nature of the Goddesses’ Gift to anybody. After all, it was his advantage. But here it had seemed appropriate to give her credit before the enemy he had slain in her honor.
“Great goddess, I give thanks to you for blessing me with your Gift and giving me this victory. I swear, I shall sacrifice to you as soon as I reach your closest temple.” Inashtar was one of the most widely worshipped gods on the continent. Even the colony of the barbarians from Helcenaea should have a temple dedicated to her. But that would have to wait. He was still far away from Riadnos. Kion could only hope and pray that the goddess’s goodwill would last.
He spent the next hour hunting down and picking off the remaining warriors in ones or twos. Once his bloody work was done, he enjoyed a generous meal of their supplies and thought about his next step.
