“They’ve killed only four. That isn’t a pack. That’s hardly anything. This was a lone hunter, nothing more. Now, will you help me bring it to town, or must I do everything myself?”

Sighing, Jerico grabbed one arm, Darius the other. Together they dragged it across the leaves, through the forest, and to the town of Durham, so the people might see they had nothing left to fear.

T he Citadel loomed before him, looking tall and proud in the twilight. As the sun continued to fall, an uneasy fear set over him. Spiderwebs of cracks stretched higher and higher throughout the Citadel’s foundation. Fire burst upon the grass around it. Bones fell from the sky. As a great roar shook the plains, he heard a terrible crack, and then-

Jerico’s eyes snapped open. His heart pounded in his chest. Despite the chill of autumn, his body was soaked with sweat.

Again? he wondered. What is it, Ashhur? What is it you need to tell me?

For the past week he’d had the same dream, and always it felt like it ended unfinished. Dread settled over him come the morning, and at least twice he’d thought to return to the Citadel to ensure everything was in order. But with Durham threatened by wolf-men sneaking out of the Vile Wedge and across the river to feed, he couldn’t dare leave his assigned post.

As his senses slowly returned, he realized what day it was and groaned. He stayed in a small room of Jeremy Hangfield, the town’s wealthiest occupant, the room freely given in exchange for protecting them from the various menaces of the wild. They were far from the great city of Mordeina and her guards, patrols, and roads. Here there were outlaws, bandits, and now, creatures of the Wedge. But fighting wasn’t his sole duty, though sometimes he wished it was. Instead of putting on his armor, he donned his only pair of clothes that weren’t bloodstained, a simple white tunic adorned with the golden mountain, symbol of his god. He clipped his mace to his belt but left his shield, feeling silly carrying it when not in armor.